


The Areto Incident

by Corellian_Angel, ErinDarroch, JustineGraham



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: AU, F/M, No Disney canon here, alternative universe, non-Disney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-03-15 14:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 72,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13615611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corellian_Angel/pseuds/Corellian_Angel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinDarroch/pseuds/ErinDarroch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustineGraham/pseuds/JustineGraham
Summary: If you grow up listening to many colourful stories about how your dad and uncles rescued your mom, and then your mom and your uncles rescued your dad (and how your uncles were always having to save the lives of one or the other [or both] of your parents and/or be rescued themselves), you might find yourself in possession of a slightly overdeveloped sense of responsibility --- and a penchant for rescuing people, whether they need it or not. Han and Leia's children, c. 30ABY.





	1. Tal

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a joke; a feeble little backlash against the hideous and pathetic only child given to Han and Leia by the current official canon. _We’ll give ‘em seven kids_ , we said in defiance. _All girls. All completely bad-ass_. Somebody mentioned “Solo Sand Snakes” and then it was on. (Hey, the **book** Snakes, okay, not the show Snakes!)
> 
> Anyway…that was in August 2016. It turns out that seven daughters was a few too many to wrangle and it stretched the plausibility just a bit too far, even for us. But we reckon the kids that did make it into this fic would kick Darth Whiny’s skinny arse any day (after they’ve grown up a little, of course).
> 
>  _Warnings:_ This is, we think, a fairly lighthearted fic but there are nevertheless features that some may wish to avoid, such as adult themes; use of alcohol; imprisonment; suggestion of non-con; mild violence; language; and a healthy measure of sibling bickering, backtalk, and sass from teenage Solos. 
> 
> _Also:_ Needless to say, this is completely AU. No Disney canon. No Legends/EU canon. And this is just one version of events. It doesn’t necessarily represent fixed headcanon for any of us. We’re just playin’ around. ;)

Tal Solo lounged in her seat at the bar, absently swirling the deep amber liquid in her glass as she casually scanned the crowded cantina. _The Greasy Gears_ was a small establishment but, despite its name, one that seemed to be marginally cleaner and slightly more reputable than most of the other bars along the strip. Given its position in downtown Thani, the bustling capital city of the planet Telos, it typically attracted a wide range of clientele from across the galaxy, and tonight was no exception. The dimly lit interior was buzzing with an eclectic assemblage of human, humanoid, and utterly alien species whose voices were raised in convivial cacophony over the lively background music. To Tal’s delight, most appeared to be engrossed in recapping the details of the local swoop racing championship that was currently in full swing on the outskirts of the city. As the winner of the initial round in her division, Tal kept one ear cocked to the discussions for any mention of her name, smiling to herself whenever she overheard patrons debating whether she was bound to go all the way. Tal _knew_ she was going to go all the way—straight to the top, and no one could stop her—but it gave her a little thrill of pleasure to hear her merits discussed by fans and fellow racers alike. In this part of the Kwymar Sector, at least, she could use her real surname without being automatically associated with the father who had bequeathed it—a man whose status as a racing legend was surpassed only by his reputation as a hero of the long-ago Galactic Civil War. Although Tal’s face wasn’t well-known yet, she was starting to make a name for herself here on the Outer Rim and, for once in her life, her name was her own. 

The rectangular central bar where she sat was occupied on all four sides by a variety of sentients, including a pair of green-skinned Rodians immersed in intense discussion, a sleepy-eyed Ithorian male, and a Twi’lek couple whose limbs, lips and lekku were entwined and writhing together in ways that made Tal’s eyebrows climb, given the public setting. Glancing away from the display, she saw three or four shadier types inhabiting the darker corners of the cantina, likely doing a brisk business accepting off-track wagers on the series of races scheduled for the following day. Allowing her gaze to roam as she sipped her drink, Tal’s attention was drawn to a booth at the back of the tavern, where a group of young human and humanoid males sat huddled around a table crowded with various bottles and half-empty glasses. They all appeared to be a year or two older than Tal, and to her appraising eye they ran the gamut from boyishly cute to ruggedly handsome. Although two or three were garbed in racing gear similar to Tal’s own, the rest looked like university types; probably students of the nearby East Thani University. She ignored their boisterous challenges to each other, keeping a casual eye on the news holo running above the bar as she toyed with the rivulets of condensation that trickled down her glass. 

Watching the clear drops of water pool in a ring around the base, Tal considered her own university ambitions—or rather, the complete lack thereof. Though she’d been eligible for a place at Coruscant University after leaving school, and although her parents had urged her to take it, Tal had a wanderlust too powerful to make academia very attractive, at least in the short-term. She hadn’t dismissed the possibility of returning to Coruscant to recommence her studies at some future date but, for now, she was having the time of her life. The excitement of exploring the galaxy on her own for the first time was one element of that, and the ancient little RZ-1 she’d salvaged—with considerable assistance from her father and both uncles—was holding up well. But it was really the thrill of swoop racing that drove Tal to travel from system to system, following the circuit and registering for increasingly prestigious competitions as her reputation grew. So far, she reflected with deep satisfaction, her decision to pursue a racing career had paid off, both figuratively and literally. Not only was her star on the rise, but she'd just filled her accounts with enough credits to see her through until the season opener on Agamar, with perhaps a little bit left over for a few upgrades to her swoop bike. Smiling to herself at that thought, Tal had just lifted the squat glass tumbler to her lips for another sip of whiskey when a shadow fell across her vision, and a smooth male voice drifted to her ear.

“My buddies bet me that I wouldn't be able to start a conversation with the most beautiful girl in the bar.” 

Tal sipped in silence for a beat longer, then lowered her glass and tipped her head back slightly to meet the eyes of the tall human who’d just squeezed into the gap between herself and the next patron, and was now gazing at her with wary anticipation. She recognized him as one of the guys from the university crowd in the back booth, and was gratified to see she’d attracted one of the ruggedly handsome variety. _No baby face here_ , she noted with approval, as the suntanned young man leaned one elbow on the bar and gave her a crooked smile, his deep-set eyes twinkling expectantly. A shadow of a few days’ growth of dark beard peppered his square jaw and angular chin, and his nose had a slight but intriguing slant—but his eyes, Tal decided, were definitely his best feature; she lingered there for a moment, admiring the rich mosaic of rust, ochre and grey, rimmed in dark green. Allowing her gaze to flicker downwards, she decided that the rest of him wasn’t half-bad, either. His lean, solid torso was clad in a padded leather racer’s jacket over a white button-down shirt, which was loosely tucked into khaki trousers, and he wore tall leather boots of the type favoured by racers and spacers alike. Tal’s gaze drifted back up again, noting how the fingers of one broad hand toyed idly with a pair of pilot’s gloves tucked into his belt. 

“They wagered that a girl like you wouldn’t give a guy like me the time of day,” the stranger continued, leaning in a little closer. 

Tal caught the masculine scent of the fragrance he wore, mingled with a familiar trace of swoop exhaust. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the close-cropped strands sticking up in a half-dozen different—and very charming—directions, and then flashed a grin that was clearly designed to melt Tal’s resolve in a heartbeat. 

_Not bad,_ she thought. _Kinda hot, actually. And I’ve certainly heard worse pickup lines today…._

Ordinarily, she surmised, this guy’s approach probably served him well; he’d certainly captured her attention, even with his cheesy overture. But Tal was no simpering trackside girl, easily seduced by a winning smile and simple flattery. Now coming to the end of her second year on the circuit, she’d had a few hundred attractive beings from dozens of worlds try to win her over with that sort of roguish charm, but she’d never been particularly impressed by it. The unique circumstances of her upbringing had required her to learn at an early age how to deftly and politely deter the advances of many a charming, wealthy and powerful admirer. Those were lessons she’d had in abundance from her mother, and she’d learned them well. From her father, she’d learned a few less polite but more practical methods for discouraging over-eager suitors. Those methods—a pair of BlasTech DL-11 blaster pistols—were tucked into custom-made holsters, snugged against her ribs on both sides, and concealed beneath her short leather jacket. Eyeing her new companion with a thoughtful half-smile, she decided she probably wouldn’t need them—not yet, anyway.

“Whaddaya say?” the stranger prompted, lowering his voice an octave, despite the clamor of the cantina. “Wanna buy some drinks with their credits?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his erstwhile companions. 

Tal pursed her lips in a show of mock concentration as she considered his offer. A triumphant day like today would ordinarily have been enough for her; she’d ruled the track, and she was still buzzing with the endorphin rush she always experienced after a victory. She certainly didn’t need anyone else to give her an ego boost; she’d done that all by herself. But she enjoyed the teasing back-and-forth of casual flirtation, and she could keep up with the best when she felt so inclined. And at the moment, she did feel somewhat inclined. She was bored and—if she were being completely honest with herself—more than a little lonely. The tall stranger cocked an eyebrow up and his grin went even wider as his remarkable hazel eyes scanned her face. 

_Hooo boy,_ Tal thought wryly. _You’d be fun. Maybe a bit too much fun. But what the hell._

“Sure,” she shrugged. “Why not?” Tal uncrossed her legs and swivelled to face him, making a show of meeting his gaze and addressing him directly, for the benefit of his friends who might be watching. 

“I should probably introduce myself,” he noted, drawing his hand up in the narrow space between them to offer a handshake. “I’m Maiko Bradis, from Salik City on Toprawa.” 

“Tal,” she replied, favoring him with a faint smile as she briefly clasped his warm hand. She’d thought his chiselled features looked vaguely familiar, but she realized exactly who he was as soon as she heard the name. She was surprised she hadn’t recognized him immediately, having seen his visage featured alongside hers many times, on holonet reports of results and standings. Maiko Bradis was a fellow swoop racer, a former junior champ who was now moving up the leagues just as she was, with the promise of an outstanding future ahead. _Things just got a little more interesting,_ she thought. 

“Just ‘Tal’?” Bradis queried mildly, offering her an opportunity to be more forthcoming. “Nothing else?”

“‘Tal’ will do for now,” she told him, tucking a wayward lock of her short dark hair behind one ear. She was not a big fan of her full given name; it sounded like some sort of flower. In fact, it was _actually_ the name of a flower from her mother’s homeworld. Her father had chosen it for that reason, and because it contained an echo of her mother’s name. Nevertheless, she’d ditched that version of herself a long time ago, favouring the shorter nickname and flatly ignoring anyone who addressed her otherwise. Tal loved her mother dearly, but she was certainly no _flower_. Her failure to supply Maiko Bradis with her surname, though, was pure habit; she’d forgotten for a moment that she was far away from the Core Worlds, where the mere mention of it would draw the sort of attention she’d never craved, and didn’t want. Tal reached for her glass and then took another sip of whiskey. 

“Short and sweet,” Maiko grinned amiably. “Suits you.” 

Inwardly, Tal bristled. At just a smidgen over one and a half meters tall, and very slightly built, she was accustomed to endless gibes about her diminutive size, mainly because she had three younger sisters—as well as one older—who had all long ago surpassed her in height. Even the youngest, at fourteen, towered over her these days, which was a source of continual exasperation for Tal. Although she knew she was...well, tiny...she didn’t especially like being reminded of it. She was also more than a little nonplussed to hear herself referred to as sweet. Bradis was a very good-looking guy, and he was undoubtedly a talented racer, but she didn’t tolerate that type of condescension from anyone, least of all from someone she’d only just met. As she opened her mouth to correct his perception, though, she saw his jaw drop and his eyes widen in recognition. 

“You’re Tal Solo,” he said, his voice rising a little before he recovered his composure. He smiled warmly. “I know you.” 

Reflexively, Tal stiffened, bracing herself for the usual barrage of comments about her famous family, but then grinned when Bradis clapped his hands together and said in a tone of amazed surprise, “You’re the hotshot who bumped me off the track, just after the second turn in the qualifiers on Manaan a couple months back.” He shook his head, incredulous. “Those were some slick moves. You hit every single boost pad and blew through that course; I’ve never seen anything like it. That was so impressive to watch, I almost didn’t mind losing.” 

Pleased by Maiko’s recognition of her from the racing circuit and gratified by his praise, Tal swiftly forgave his earlier transgression. She gave him a smirk and jingled the ice in her nearly empty glass as a reminder of the wager. “Didn’t you say something about drinks? This glass isn’t going to refill itself.”

His face lit with a broad smile. “I’ll get right on that. Let me guess...Corellian whiskey, right?”

Tal nodded. “And since they’re buying,” she said, indicating Maiko’s friends with a slight inclination of her head, “make it a Whyren’s.” 

“You got it,” Maiko grinned, then turned away to gesture for the bartender. 

Idly, Tal turned her attention to one of several holovision screens positioned around the cantina. There was one fixed to the wall about four meters to her left, just a little above eye level from her current position. She grimaced a little at the images she saw there, realizing almost immediately that the holo was on the wrong channel for galactic sports results. Then she blinked, wondering if that last whiskey had gone straight to her head. She rubbed her eyes and then squinted. 

Yes, those were _definitely_ her parents on the screen. 

She smiled faintly, feeling a wistful little twinge in her gut. Seeing her mother and father on the transgalactic news was not a novel experience—not at all. They were both highly visible public figures who had long been active in the political and military spheres of galactic government. But she hadn’t actually seen her parents in person in almost four months, and the sight of their faces gave her an unexpected pang of homesickness. She wondered why they were being featured on that particular broadcast, though, which looked to be coming from one of the regional entertainment channels.

Swivelling on her stool, Tal braced one hand against the bar and leaned forward a little, straining to hear the holocast’s audio above the noise of the music and conversation. A trio of Sullustan bar patrons crossed between Tal’s position and the screen, and then stopped in exactly the wrong place to have a chat, obscuring her view entirely. With an impatient huff, she swivelled the other way, tilting her head back for a better view of the vidpanel above the bar. She couldn’t help but smile again at the sight of those familiar and beloved faces on the screen; the montage being shown covered a long span of time—over thirty years—and although many of the images had been taken a full decade before she was born, Tal had seen them all a million times before. Her mother, dressed in elegant white, looking round-faced and impossibly young, smiling up at Tal’s father, sun-bronzed and handsome in his prime, with a golden medal hung around his neck. The next image showed them with their arms slung around each other, standing amidst a crowd of furry Ewoks and friends, with triumphant grins plastered on their youthful faces. A number of other familiar images followed, including some of Tal and her sisters when they were kids, but Tal’s attention was snagged by the string of Aurebesh text that was now scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Her eyes widened as she read the script, and then she felt her stomach drop, the way it sometimes did when she was racing, topped a rise too fast, and then plummeted down the other side, a little out of control. She blinked at the text, feeling a hot flush rising up from her chest to her throat, creeping higher still until her cheeks felt like they were burning. She straightened on her stool and then leaned her forearms on the bar, nudging Maiko Bradis out of the way with her elbow, just as the bartender arrived with their drinks. 

“Hey, can you turn up the volume on that holo,” Tal urged, gesturing above their heads to the vidscreen. 

The barkeep, a pink-skinned Zeltron female with indigo hair piled high in a messy knot, simply gazed at her with a blank expression as she set the drinks down on the bar. “Sorry, what?” she asked, raising her voice to carry over the noise of the crowd. 

“Turn it up,” Tal repeated, almost shouting. She jabbed a finger at the holo, then jerked her thumb upward. “Up,” she said, mouthing the word in an exaggerated manner. “Please,” she added belatedly, sinking back onto her stool as the barkeep nodded and turned away. 

Beside her, Maiko Bradis pivoted in her direction, then lifted her drink from the bar and offered it to her. She was aware of him trying to catch her eye again, but she barely glanced in his direction as she accepted the glass with muttered thanks, and then turned her attention once more upwards to the vidscreen. The segment was evidently drawing to an end, but the volume swelled just in time for her to catch the last of the transmission. The human female newscaster had a voice so nasal and a tone so oily, Tal found it difficult to believe she’d been hired to perform such a role. Even worse, her voice was practically dripping with pity, laid on so thick it would’ve been insulting even if it hadn’t been so patently insincere. 

> **“…Princess Leia, a hero of the Rebellion in her own right, is said to be devastated and has gone into seclusion on Dubrillion, appearing in public only to complete her official duties. While neither could be reached for comment, it looks like the fairytale story is finally over for this galactic power couple…”**

“Hello?” Maiko said tersely, waving a hand in front of Tal’s face. “Over here...bought you a drink, we’re having a conversation, remember?”

Tal lightly batted his hand away. ‘Don’t,” she chastised, scowling. The feed moved on to another salacious story, and she blew out a breath, her shoulders sagging in dismay. “Damn, I missed it.”

“It’ll loop around again in a few minutes,” Maiko reassured her. “What’s with the interest in galactic gossip, anyway? You don’t strike me as the type to be into all that glitz.”

“How would you know what I’m ‘into’?” Tal glared. “You’ve known me for what, five minutes?”

“Ten. We’re practically dating.”

Tal rolled her eyes. “You wish.” 

“Yeah, I do wish,” Maiko rejoined, surprising her with his candor. “Especially now that I know you’re a speed junkie like me. And a rival.” He raised one dark eyebrow suggestively. “Bet we could have some fun together….” 

“Keep dreaming, racerboy.” Tal dropped her gaze to the tumbler in her hand, then lifted it to her lips and took a small sip. The premium liquor felt smooth on her tongue, warming her throat and spreading a soothing, seductive heat through her limbs. She hoped it would ease the hollow feeling she felt in the pit of her stomach, the one that had begun the moment she saw her parents’ faces on the vidscreen, the one that had intensified when she heard the sanctimonious voice of the reporter say _the fairytale story is finally over...._

Tal struggled to attach meaning to the words. Her parents had been fine the last time she had spoken to them; they’d seemed happy, united, and…well, _normal_ —or at least as normal as they ever were. As a child, she’d taken for granted how devoted they were to one another, and in her early teens their longstanding habit of flirtatious bickering had been a source of continual and intense embarrassment for Tal, surpassed only by her horror of catching them kissing in the kitchen, something they seemed to do far more often than was strictly necessary. Her parents had been in love with each other for thirty years, and Tal refused to believe anything could change that. 

She _had_ been out of touch for a while—she felt a pang of guilt when she realized just how long it had been since she’d last commed home—but the idea that something so significant could have happened during that time, something that could cause her mother to be devastated and driven to seclusion, was so completely beyond Tal’s comprehension, it almost defied logic. _No,_ she thought, giving her head a shake. Her parents were _together_. Period. Full stop. End of discussion.

“Hey, it’s back,” Maiko said, snapping Tal out of her rumination. She turned her attention to the vidscreen, and Maiko read aloud the words that scrolled across the bottom as they appeared. “‘ _Solo Family Heartbreak….?_ ’ Hey, wait...Solo. You’re one of _those_ Solos? Wow. I had no idea you were—”

“ _Shhhh!_ ” Tal ordered. “I need to hear this.” 

The unctuous voice of the newscaster whined gratingly above the general hubbub of the cantina, sounding as false as ever. Tal gritted her teeth.

> **“The legendary swoop racer and beloved hero of the Rebellion, General Han Solo of Corellia, has reportedly split from his wife, Leia Organa, the last princess of Alderaan.”**

The nasal narrative was accompanied by the montage of images Tal had glimpsed earlier; rare snippets of her parents’ lives during the war, in the years before they were even married. The first few pictures showcased the couple at the height of their galactic fame, and near the beginning of the relationship that had begun more than thirty standard years before. 

> **“The couple have reportedly parted ways after more than twenty-five years of marriage, and sources close to the couple say it’s General Solo who has abandoned the family home in favor of a new life on Areto.”**

Tal scowled at the flatcam images of herself and her sisters that were now flashing by on the screen, all of them taken years ago when they were kids; Breha, the eldest, walking hand-in-hand with their dad on some high-level street in Coruscant; the youngest, Brin, as a toddler, bundled up in her father’s left arm as he scowled and pointed a warning finger at the camera; the twins, Serren and Kai, grinning with delight as they dangled from their Uncle Chewie’s gigantic Wookiee thumbs; and all five girls dressed in formalwear, stiffly posed with their parents at some long-ago official function.

> **“Trading in his princess for a queen, the racing legend has reportedly found new happiness in the arms of Queen Calissa, the young and beautiful ruling monarch of Areto.”**

The images now flickering by had clearly been selected to imply growing discord between her parents; candid snapshots of them unsmiling, or turned away from one another, or looking less than their best. The next in the series showed the Areti queen in question, a tall, slender and very glamorously attired blonde human who looked to be in her late thirties. That attractive image was followed by a particularly unflattering picture of Tal’s mother, looking tired and—very uncharacteristically—a little frazzled. Tal scowled and listened again to the conclusion of the gossip segment. 

> **“Princess Leia, a hero of the Rebellion in her own right, is said to be devastated and has gone into seclusion on Dubrillion, appearing in public only to complete her official duties. While neither could be reached for comment, it looks like the fairytale story is finally over for this galactic power couple…”**

For a moment, Tal sat motionless, staring blankly at the screen as she absorbed the full impact of what she’d heard. It was as if an explosive charge had detonated inside her head, shattering everything she knew—or thought she knew—into a million tiny fragments. She drew a shuddering breath and exhaled it in a rush, vaguely aware that her highly rational and usually reliable inner voice was presently being strangled to death in the grip of strong emotion. She lifted the glass and downed the remaining whiskey in one gulp, clenching her teeth afterwards against the harsh, burning sensation that made her eyes water, lit her throat on fire, and pooled like hot metal in her stomach. 

Maiko reached out and laid a tentative hand on her forearm. “Hey, Tal,” he queried gently, “you okay? I mean, man, that’s gotta be rough. Especially hearing it like that.”

“It isn’t true,” she replied flatly, sparing a glance at Maiko’s face and frowning a little at his solicitous manner. She shrugged off his hand, not meaning to be rude but not in the mood to be touched, either. She reclined for a moment against the low back of her bar stool, absently rubbing her palms down the length of her thighs as she felt her pulse begin to slow. “It’s a gossip channel,” she said with a dismissive wave of one hand. “They’re just doing what they do.” 

“You’re probably right.” Maiko’s smile was sympathetic and his tone wholly reasonable. “But they don’t make this stuff up out of nothing, you know. Maybe they embellish it a little—okay, a lot—but there's usually some basis in truth....”

Tal felt the tiny hairs at the back of her neck prickle. Turning her head slightly, she fixed her new acquaintance with a cold glare. “Not this time,” she enunciated with icy precision. “They’re wrong. They are _dead_ wrong.”

Maiko’s eyebrows climbed and Tal looked away, scowling. Despite her own firm insistence on that point, she felt a spiralling uneasiness that made her feel almost physically ill, and for a moment she was afraid her body might reject the still-smoldering whiskey that lay unsettled in her stomach. Although she didn’t doubt for a moment that her parents were still firmly, fiercely devoted to one another, she couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that something was nevertheless very wrong with her family. For the first time in her twenty years, she yearned to have some of the Force ability possessed by her mother and three of her sisters. If only she had that power now, she thought, she could instantly separate truth from fiction, and dismiss the hateful gossip out of hand. As things stood, though, she would be forced to rely on more mundane methods of communication. 

“Excuse me,” she said abruptly to Maiko Bradis, slipping down from the barstool and feeling blindly around inside a deep inner pocket of her jacket until her hand closed around the familiar shape of her comm. She glanced around the cantina, which now seemed busier and even louder than it had before. The mixed short-track heats for the senior division had just completed, and the small space was rapidly filling up with even more racers and spectators, some of them in search of a celebratory drink, and some who wished only to drown the sorrows of their losses. Every nook and cranny of the establishment seemed occupied, and there was no quiet corner into which Tal could duck. That meant there was really only one private place left in the cantina.

“Be right back,” she flipped over her shoulder to Maiko, as she took her comm and headed for the fresher. She was vaguely aware of him staring after her as she made her abrupt departure, but she brushed off the concern. There were more important things to attend to, she reminded herself, than making time with outrageously attractive racerboys.

Growling at the sight of the queue of antsy bar patrons that stretched from the fresher door, Tal almost turned on her heel and exited the building. She changed her mind, though, at the thought of trying to place a call out on the street, hunched against the chill night wind and shouting to be heard over the drone of speeder traffic. When her turn for the fresher finally arrived, she slapped the controls that locked the door and heaved a sigh of relief, grateful for the respite from the noise and bustle of the bar. 

Her first call was to her father. He was almost always easier to reach than her mother. More often than not, calls to her mother’s personal comm went unanswered during working hours, going straight to the messaging system, which Leia was—by her own admission—terrible at managing. Leaning her back against the fresher door, Tal punched in her father’s comcode, tapping her booted foot on the scuffed, dirt-streaked tile floor as she waited for the call to connect across the vast distances between galactic relay points. Upon hearing the familiar tone that indicated Han’s comm was not active, she released a grunt of frustration, cancelled the transmission, and tried her mother. As expected, the call went directly to a recording. The sound of the stiffly efficient mechanical voice on the other end urging her to leave a message served only to ramp up Tal’s irritation tenfold. Terminating the call, she chewed on the inside of her cheek and tapped the comlink against her open palm. _Think. Who else? Chewie! Chewie will know what’s going on._ Even though her father’s oldest friend spent most of his time these days on his homeworld of Kashyyyk, he was still her father’s business partner, and he could always be relied upon to know where Han and Leia might be found. 

A pounding reverberated on the fresher door, startling Tal and shaking the door with vibrations that traveled up the length of her spine. “Just a minute,” she shouted into empty air, her voice bouncing off the tiled walls and sounding very loud in the confined space. She keyed in Chewbacca’s comcode and waited, but found to her frustration that the Wookiee’s device, too, was inactive. 

With a groan, she crossed over to the sani and sank down onto the closed lid. Leaning forward slightly, she rested her elbows on her knees and gazed down at the comlink held between her clasped hands, while her mind searched for options. She considered contacting one of her sisters, but quickly dismissed the thought as a bad idea. There was a chance that the news—Tal hesitated to even give the objectionable story such a legitimate-sounding moniker—hadn’t reached them yet, and the last thing she wanted to do was to cause needless worry. 

There was one other person who might be able to provide some information or, at the very least, get a message to her mother—Irina Domina, her mother’s long-time assistant and trusted friend. A quick check of her chrono told Tal that it was mid-afternoon in Galactic City. Straightening her posture, she punched in the comcode for her mother’s office. To her relief, the call connected, but she heaved a weary sigh a moment later when she was immediately routed into a queue; clearly Tal was not the only one trying to get some answers. 

The pounding on the fresher door resumed, followed this time by a voice—a rapid, warbling sing-song of alien tones, speaking a language that Tal didn’t understand but what she suspected would translate to _‘hurry up in there’._

“Alright!” she snapped. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll be out in a minute. Can’t a person even—”

“Office of the Minister, please hold.”

 _“No!”_ Tal interjected swiftly. “Irina, it’s me, Tal.” 

“Tal?” the voice echoed, straining over the noise of voices in the background. “Where are you?”

“Telos,” she answered shortly. “What’s going on there, Ree? I heard a report...something odd, about Mom and Dad.”

“I know; we’ve all heard it here, too.” Irina said. “It’s all over the holonet. I wish I could tell you what’s happening, Tal; but all I know is that, so far, there’s no reason to believe any of it is true. There’s been no official statement of denial, but no one can reach your parents to get one, and the Areti royal house is declining to comment for now.” 

Tal frowned. “Declining to comment?” 

“Yes,” Irina replied, sounding more than a little distracted. Tal heard her muffle the receiver for a moment while she said something to someone on the other end. She uncovered the comm and continued, “It’s absolute madness here; the comm is non-stop, and there are reporters _everywhere_. I thought public interest in your parents’ marriage was a thing of the past, but...I guess not.” 

“Where are they, anyway?” Tal urged. “The report I saw said Dad was on Areto and Mom was on Dubrillion?” 

“That part is true,” Irina replied. “They’re both out that way on official business. Han is somewhere near Orinth at the palace of the monarch there, and your mother is in Basior City, but they travelled to the Outer Rim together, aboard the _Falcon_ …” Irina’s voice trailed off. “Look, Tal, I’m sure it’s nothing. The gossip mongers out there on the Rim probably caught them in the middle of an argument and jumped to conclusions. You know how they are when they flare up over something; it always looks and sounds a lot worse than it is, and they make it up in no time. I’m sure they’re fine.” 

Tal acknowledged the truth of those observations, then thanked Irina and signed off, leaving the woman to get back to fielding similar enquiries from across the galaxy. She sat for a moment longer, idly turning her comm unit over in her hand and ignoring the complaining that continued from the other side of the fresher door, while she considered Irina’s reassurances. She was probably right. _Probably._ But the uneasiness that had gripped Tal from the start seemed only to intensify, the more she thought about it. Although her rational mind told her to dismiss the gossip, carry on with her life, and catch up with her parents in a few days when things had settled down, she couldn’t reconcile herself to that course of action. She had a very bad feeling about this situation that no amount of rationality could shake. 

Still, she hesitated over making a decision. Going to Areto or Dubrillion right now meant giving up the race tomorrow—and probably most of the races scheduled for the remainder of the week—a move that would surely result in her losing her standing in this circuit, and maybe even hinder her ability to finish out the season. But the more she thought about the report she’d seen, the more convinced she became that there was something to it. It had nothing to do with her parents’ marriage breaking up, of course; Tal was ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain that such a thing would _never_ happen. But her gut told her something was wrong. Dead wrong.

On her way out of the fresher, Tal brushed past the queue of disgruntled-looking patrons, ignoring their glares and their rude remarks as she made her way through the crowd to the booth at the back. Maiko Bradis had returned to his friends, no doubt on the assumption that Tal had rudely decided to down the drink he’d bought for her, and ditch him for the evening. He glanced up as she approached, and she saw his handsome face break into a broad smile of surprise as he slipped out of the booth to greet her. Straightening to his full height, he squared his stance and hooked his thumbs in his belt, in a confident, open posture that Tal could easily read. Scanning his lean, masculine figure with her eyes, she felt a glimmer of disappointment as she considered yet another lost opportunity. 

_Would’ve been fun, Racerboy,_ she thought. _But I’ve gotta run._

She saw the gleam of expectation in Maiko’s eyes so, before he could speak, she clapped him warmly on the arm with one hand and said bluffly, “Today’s your lucky day, Bradis. Your odds of winning tomorrow just went up considerably.” Digging her fingers into the shallow hip pocket of her snug trousers, she found and withdrew a credit chip sufficient to cover the cost of the Whyren’s Reserve she’d gulped, and pressed it into Maiko’s hand.

“What? No!” he protested, grabbing her lightly by the wrist and emphatically pressing the chip back into her palm. “That one’s on me, Solo.” 

Tal shrugged, pocketing the chip. “Well, I owe you one.” 

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Tiny,” Bradis said with a broad smile. 

Tal responded to his use of the epithet with the sort of disparaging look that ordinarily withered anyone who dared to venture into that territory—and this guy had done it not once, but twice. Her obvious displeasure at his flippant remark only widened his grin, though, offering a glimpse of even white teeth, and crinkling the corners of his hazel eyes. Grudgingly, Tal decided the nickname wasn’t quite so objectionable, coming from him. 

“But what do you mean,” Maiko continued in a more serious tone, “my 'odds of winning just went up'?” 

Impulsively, Tal stretched up on tiptoe, using his arm for balance, and kissed his stubbled cheek. It was a light brush of the lips that nevertheless left the racer wide-eyed and gaping at her as she subsided. Tal shoved her hands into her pockets, rocked back on her heels and gave him a rueful smile. 

“The bad news?” she said, “I’m leaving. But the good news is now you’ve at least got a chance at the big payout.” She winked. “Thanks for the drink,” she added, before swivelling around and heading for the exit.

“Wait,” Maiko called after her. “Where are you going?”

“Areto,” Tal answered decisively, tossing the answer over her shoulder as she walked. “I need to have a little chat with my dad.”


	2. Han

Twenty hours earlier…

With the monotony of the afternoon’s lengthy formal proceedings finally concluded, Han Solo sat back in his chair and expelled a heavy sigh of relief. All around him, the Great Hall of Galdoral Castle was abuzz with the voices and movements of a few hundred beings who had just been dismissed from the afternoon’s final courtly assembly and were now milling towards the exit. Han had managed to remain in the background throughout most of the closing ceremony, rising only to utter a few brief words—his own abbreviated version of Leia’s carefully composed oration. As directed, he’d praised specific actions of those beings who had risked the most for their homeworld and sector, and offered the thanks of the New Republic for their solidarity in the fight against the Empire, before he’d finally subsided into his chair and breathed a sigh of relief. Listening to the remaining speakers as they’d droned on with their political statements and expositions, Han had nearly drifted into unconsciousness through sheer boredom, and he’d been immensely grateful to hear the rush of polite applause that signaled the end of his tedious chore. 

Glancing across the ornately decorated hall, he exchanged an eloquent look with his longstanding Wookiee companion, and Chewbacca inclined his russet head in agreement: their obligations as representatives of the New Republic here on Areto had been fulfilled, and it was time for them to go. Han watched as Chewie unfolded his large frame from the bench along one wall where he’d been seated throughout the commemoration, and began to wend his way through the crowd in Han’s direction. As his friend moved across the expanse of the vast space, Han could see him trying to suppress a toothy grin, clearly amused by the shocked faces of the Areti natives who, slightly unnerved by the Wookiee’s imposing alien presence, scrambled quickly out of his way to allow him to pass. 

Understanding that proper etiquette precluded the guests-of-honor from bolting out of the assembly at the earliest opportunity, Han and Chewie waited together until the majority of the crowd had exited the hall before falling into step with the stragglers. The queue was slow-moving, as the other guests bunched up and milled around outside the doors, so they’d proceeded only a few metres towards the gap when two of the guards that stood sentry along the perimeter of the exit route, resplendent in the lacquered armor of the Areto people, stepped deftly in front of them and intercepted their passage. Each man brandished a long and elegantly styled lance that looked to Han’s practiced eye like some variety of forcepike, which they lowered and crossed over the path between where Han and Chewie stood, and the door. Though neither guard met Han’s gaze directly, their expressions were fixed; stony and resolute.

Han’s right hand reflexively ghosted down to where his low-slung holster normally resided. He caught himself and casually deflected the move, shifting his hand up to scratch at his lower back, fingertips grazing the thin handle of the blade tucked inside his belt there. Areto was a pacifist planet, and public display of weapons was strongly discouraged. Even though he’d seen the necessity of leaving his trusted DL-44 blaster behind on the _Millennium Falcon_ , Han hadn’t reached the prime of his life by entering into unfamiliar environments completely unprepared. Still, by his own standards he was lightly armed; in addition to the knuckleblade in his belt, and the tiny single-shot holdout blaster strapped to his forearm and hidden by his sleeve, he concealed only a single vibro-blade in his boot sheath. Those three items would be sufficient to defend himself from a lone aggressor in close proximity, but they certainly were not enough to take on a pair of trained, well-equipped guards. For _that_ type of situation, though, he had a Wookiee. As if on cue, Chewbacca emitted a rumbling, subterranean growl, and Han saw the guards’ knuckles whitening on their weapons. Han smirked. 

“Just a moment, please, General Solo.” 

The sound of the rich contralto, feminine voice coming from behind them made Han swivel slowly around. Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of Chewbacca angling his large frame so that he could keep in view both the approaching official and the two guards who barred their nearest exit. Forty years of close acquaintance with the Wookiee told Han that Chewie was preparing for trouble, and Han’s own instincts were alight with warning, too. He eyed the human female who’d hailed him; a slim, handsome woman who appeared to be in her mid-sixties. Her white-blonde hair was worn in an elegant bobbed style that framed her angular face, and she moved with efficient grace, her long, pale robes billowing out behind her as she walked. As she neared Han’s position, her lined face creased in a cool smile that didn’t quite reach her slanted ice-blue eyes. 

“General Solo,” the woman inclined her head in a courteous gesture, then met Han’s gaze once again. “My name is Mariel Trevain. I am the Lady Chamberlain for Her Majesty, Queen Calissa. The queen has commanded me to bid you come and speak with her in private.” She gave Han a coldly appraising look up and down, one that made him feel more like a side of nerf-meat being assessed for market, than a guest being politely asked to a private meeting. 

Han eyed the chamberlain warily, pondering his response. He suspected he was being wrangled into a one-on-one political discussion, or about to be sidetracked by a request or negotiation outside of the role he was here to fulfill. As far as he knew, the purpose of his visit to Areto was simply to act as a posterboy of the New Republic, to appease the Areti Royal House with some attention from the Core Worlds’ leadership, to keep the lines of communication open and, perhaps, to aid the New Republic in extending its reach to the distant, little-known planets of the Outer Rim. Everything had gone smoothly up until now, and they’d nearly reached the end of the mission without incident. Although there was no obvious sign of a threat at present, Han had a niggling sense that something wasn’t quite right, and he’d learned long ago to listen to his instincts. The way Chewie’s sharp blue eyes narrowed as he scanned the room told Han that his friend felt the same way.

“A private audience, huh?” Han queried, folding his arms across his chest and adopting a wider stance as he returned the woman’s gaze. “That’s quite an honor. I was under the impression that your queen doesn’t usually greet off-worlders in person. She’s kinda private-like?”

“That is ordinarily quite true,” the chamberlain acknowledged, her pale eyes holding Han’s unwaveringly. “However, Her Majesty plans to make an exception in this case. She wishes to express her personal thanks to you for your bravery in the liberation of our people so many years ago, as well as for honoring us with your presence during this commemoration.”

“Well then, since my friend and I _both_ had a hand in all of that,” Han said, indicating Chewie with a jerk of his chin, “she won’t mind if he comes along.”

The woman cast an apologetic glance at Chewie as she took a step closer to Han, then offered him a tight smile as she lowered her voice. “I’m afraid the invitation was extended to you alone, General.”

Han gave a mild tsk of his tongue, shook his head and gave her a rueful, lopsided smile. “My friend isn’t going to take kindly to that, Lady Trevain.” 

Chewie responded admirably to Han’s cue, peeling back his upper lip and making a show of his fangs. The Wookiee woofed at the Lady Chamberlain, at first questioningly, then with feigned insulted fervor as he leaned in her direction. Alarmed, the woman took a slight step back and to the side, almost bumping into Han; acting on reflex, he grabbed her thin shoulder to steady her. The two flanking guards reacted instantly to Han’s movement, taking a step forward and lowering their pikes in a menacing fashion. After setting the skittish woman back on her feet, Han raised his hands in a show of accord and lifted the corner of his mouth in a conciliatory smile.

“I’m just _sayin'_. Chewie here is one-half of the New Republic’s delegation, after all,” Han explained. “A really _big_ half. I pulled him out of retirement to come to this celebration of yours, so if he doesn’t get to meet the queen, and _I do_ , he’s going to be offended. And trust me, an offended Wookiee ain’t much fun to be around.”

The woman pursed her lips as she considered Han’s words. Her blue eyes slid sideways and flickered upwards to eye the massive frame of the Wookiee that towered over her. Chewie regarded her with a chilly azure gaze of his own, the edge of his lip still curled up in a faint snarl. Trevain didn’t deliberate for long. With a tiny shrug and a lift of her fine eyebrows, she gave a single nod of acquiescence. 

“As you wish,” she said, gesturing to the guards at Han’s back. 

He heard the scuff of boots as the two men advanced. One of the guards gave him a little nudge forward, catching him off-guard and knocking him slightly off balance. He recovered quickly, swivelled his head and fixed the guard with an icy glare. “Hey, where’s your manners, pal?” he snapped. 

Chewbacca, who was not the type to suffer little nudges from discourteous guards without comment, emitted another menacing growl and then cocked one hairy eyebrow up at Han. He rumbled a succinct query as he made a show of curling his massive paws into fists, causing his biceps to bulge and his broad furred shoulders to flex.

Han considered the Wookiee’s offer, then shrugged. “Your call, buddy.” Then, a split-second later, he changed his mind, holding up a forestalling hand. “No, wait,” he cautioned, thinking of Leia and how deeply displeased she’d be if they were to bash their way out of the palace instead of taking the more diplomatic route. Over the course of their many years together, Han’s rash methods of dealing with dicey situations had often saved their lives—but he’d also learned to appreciate Leia’s ability to finesse, instead of fight. He gave Chewbacca another little shrug. “Better play nice and find out what Her Majesty wants from us, first.” 

Chewbacca nodded his assent and relaxed his stance. 

Turning back to Lady Trevain, Han tilted forward at the waist in a slight approximation of a bow. “After you.”

Mariel Trevain tilted her patrician nose a little higher in the air, and the thin mouth beneath it twitched slightly at the corner. She turned on her heel and stalked away.

Han shrugged at his co-pilot’s questioning growl. “I dunno, pal,” he said, trailing in the Lady Chamberlain’s wake, with the guards following close behind. “Just...keep your eyes open, okay?”


	3. Chewie

Chapter 3: Chewie

An hour later, Chewbacca stalked out of the castle without Han, striding unaccompanied past the rows of sentries who stood motionless with their pikes held stiffly upright, facing each other in pairs staggered along the expanse of corridor that led out of the palace. The guards were clearly under advisement to allow the Wookiee to depart without incident, but that didn’t stop him casting a menacing glare or a snarl at each one as he made his way towards the main gate, and then snickering to himself at the flickers of concern that crossed their faces as he passed. The corridor itself was quite busy, with people continually coming and going, popping in and out through the multiple doorways and side halls that branched off from the main passage. One hapless fellow—a cook, Chewie decided, judging by his stained apron and the basket laden with produce that he carried—blundered directly into his path and was sent scurrying away at the sound of Chewie’s low warning growl. 

Chewie shook his head and continued his irritated grumbling as he passed through the vaulted stone archway of the castle’s main entrance and stalked past the heavy iron gate that opened on to the sunlit bridge connecting the castle rock to the mainland. 

_Humans._ They were a constant source of both amusement and frustration to the Wookiee—especially one human in particular who still displayed a penchant for attracting trouble at an age when most humans had settled down and stopped finding themselves in such ridiculous situations. But over the course of their forty years of friendship, there was one lesson Chewbacca had learned very well where Han Solo was concerned: expect the unexpected.

In hindsight, he realized, it had been a calculated move on Queen Calissa’s part that she hadn’t extended an invitation to the final ceremonies to Han’s three youngest daughters—Kai, Serren and Brin—who had accompanied them to Areto. It was obvious to Chewie now that the monarch had planned all along to make her move at that time, and the presence of the three teenagers would have complicated matters. The girls had expressed their displeasure at being excluded, of course, but they’d nevertheless acquiesced to their father’s instructions to remain behind on the mainland, safely aboard the _Falcon,_ while he and his co-pilot had attended the ceremony. Though they were all strong, capable and confident girls, Chewie was grateful that the queen had spared them the experience of watching their father being led away with the point of a forcepike at his back. 

As he walked, Chewie glanced over the edge of the limestone bridge where, a dozen meters below, waves rolled in from either direction to crash onto the narrow thread of basalt linking the island to the mainland. The strong tang of ocean air dominated his olfactory senses, but he gave a deliberate sniff just as he reached the three-quarter point on the bridge. There…yes…. Chewie could just catch the subtle mix of human pheromones and the unique scent of the _Falcon’s_ grease and coolant amongst the myriad odors swirling on the air currents. Although the scent was very faint, Chewie could tell from that deep inhalation that Han was still being held near some open passages or windows. He exhaled a sigh of relief, glad the stubborn cub remained unhurt and unconfined, as the Areti queen had promised. All reassurances to the contrary, Chewie had nevertheless been deeply reluctant to leave the Corellian in the custody of the Areti royal guard. In the end, he had only complied in response to Han’s entreaty to return to the girls and keep an eye on them. As a devoted father himself, Chewie understood the depth of his friend’s need to know that his children were protected and safe from harm.

Coming to a halt a couple of meters away from the pair of guards that stood at the outermost gate, Chewie barked a stern demand at the guard operating the portcullis control. Though it was doubtful the guard understood Shyriiwook, Chewie’s intention came across loud and clear nonetheless. The man stiffened and, with a noticeably shaky hand, pulled a small datapad from his breast pocket. Chewie watched his eyes flicker madly across the screen, no doubt searching for the authorization he required to raise the final gate. Impatient, Chewie extended and retracted his claws, studiously examining the sharp tips in the afternoon sunlight that spilled into the entry from behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guard cast a glance in his direction, and watched the man blanch and swallow hard. The subtle glint of Chewie’s protracted claws appeared to be all the authorization the guard needed; he raised his hand and signaled to a uniformed woman on the other side of the bridge, who proceeded to key in a sequence of commands on the control panel fixed in the stone archway. As the massive iron gate rose into the grooves set into the stone walls, the thick durasteel bound door beyond shook, and a steel bar as thick as Chewie’s forearm was drawn back mechanically by a series of hidden gear works in the door stiles. Retracting his claws, Chewie threw a wide, toothy grin at the guards as the steel door swung open, and then turned to make his exit.

As he stalked through the portal and emerged onto the mainland, though, he found himself caught up in a sudden rush of mostly humanoid bodies, each of them extending some manner of recording device or personal translator pointed in his direction. A burst of bright white light seared into his retinas and he flinched, flinging up an arm to shield his face as he released a startled roar. Squinting against the harsh spotlights that were trained on his position, Chewie wondered with a sinking feeling of dismay if the local press corps had somehow caught wind of the situation already. He waved one massive arm and snarled his displeasure. 

The press of reporters quieted and retreated a few steps in reaction to Chewie’s menacing behaviour, but they were not deterred for long. They quickly gathered their courage and returned to task, and within moments the din resumed and the crowd slowly encroached. The tall Wookiee was quickly surrounded again, with reporters swarming him and talking over each other, peppering him with questions.

“Sir! _Er..._ Mister Chewbacca, Sir! Is there any truth to the rumour that the queen may be looking to arrange a marriage between one of her sons and a member of the Solo clan?”

Chewbacca, surprised by the question, roared with laughter—an act which seemed to alarm a few of the beings pressed closest to him. He shook his head at the woman who’d posed the question. 

_[*No comment.*]_ he growled, still chuckling. _[*I gave up trying to understand human mating arrangements many years ago.*]_

In fact, the protracted and complex rituals that had eventually culminated in the marriage between Leia Organa and Han Solo had been the most baffling sequence of events he’d ever witnessed, and he certainly didn’t relish the idea of watching each of their five daughters navigate those waters, too. 

Feeling mildly disoriented by the assault of the media and blinking hard against the floating white spots in his field of vision, Chewie turned his head just as the slightly hazy form of a heavily made-up human female appeared in his view, drawing brazenly close and brandishing a recording device which she proceeded to thrust directly under his nose. “Sir! Do you have any comment on General Solo’s scheduled events this evening?”

Before he could bark a response, a spindly male Devaronian—with the menacing horns distinctive of his species filed to blunt, smooth nubs on the top of his head—shouldered past her. “We’ve heard a rumor of matrimonial preparations being undertaken by the queen’s staff,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice. “Can you confirm this?”

“Chewbacca, could you turn this way? Smile for the holo-cam!” called a Durian female to his right.

“How is the relationship between the Princess and the Pirate these days?” shouted a voice from the rear of the group. 

Chewbacca narrowed his eyes at that. _[*Get your facts straight. Han Solo was a smuggler. Never a pirate.*]_

“Are they attending separate events?” warbled another, a Rodian on his left. “Could this be trouble in paradise?”

_[*Don’t be stupid.*]_ Chewie snarled, his patience wearing thin. _[*Why do you care about such things? Don’t you have your own mates to keep you occupied?!*]_

There had been nothing in the New Republic’s pre-mission briefing to cover _this_ type of situation, Chewie fumed, and he wondered if, given the circumstances, the Princess would object to him removing a limb or two.

Another bright flash of light sent spots dancing across his eyes, and that was it; Chewbacca had grown weary of niceties. He filled his lungs with the deepest breath he could manage and bellowed at the cluster of paparazzi vermin, _[*ENOUGH!*]_

The ones closest to him scattered, stepping on the lower appendages of the beings behind them. Chewie took advantage of the momentary confusion to proceed forward into the cleared area, with the crowd of reporters falling in and trailing along behind. His long stride, twice that of a humanoid biped, all but guaranteed that only the fastest among the group could keep up. A long-legged female Zeltron managed to keep pace with the Wookiee and, as she trotted close on his heels, she continued to pelt him with questions. 

“Will you give us a statement about the conspicuous absence of the Princess, at least?” The reporter skipped to keep up, her impractical high-heeled shoes clicking and skidding on the gravel path. She held up what looked like a miniature metallic brooch bearing the countenance of a protocol droid’s face; a translation device, Chewie noted. Instead of replying, though, he simply snarled in annoyance and increased his speed; he couldn’t wait to leave these rock-vultures behind. Behind him, the din of questions died down amidst the sound of scrambling feet, while the female humanoid next to him struggled to keep up.

“Has there been any communication from Princess Leia on Dubrillion? What is the reason she was unable to attend both of these events personally? Is the Princess beginning to buckle under the strain of performing her duties?”

[*The Princess does not _buckle.*_ ] Chewie replied dismissively. He’d reached a point where the terrain inclined sharply and the relatively flat gravel path connected to a steep stone walkway that provided a pedestrian shortcut up to the windswept landing field where the _Millennium Falcon_ was perched. He began ascending the grade with long and powerful strides, listening to the strained grunts and groans of the few tenacious beings behind him that were still trying to keep pace. 

A moment later, above the din of voices and the distant thunder of the waves, he heard the distant startup whine of a number of speeders at the base he’d just left behind. Quickening his pace, he hurried up the path, hoping to reach his destination before his pursuers could intercept him. As he topped the crest of the hill a few minutes later, however, he saw to his dismay that there was already another group of carefully coiffed beings waiting in a small cluster near the location where the _Falcon’s_ boarding ramp would touch down once extended. This group appeared to have moved in shortly after Han and Chewbacca had left for the palace, given the significant amount of equipment that was set up and at the ready in advance of his arrival. As Chewie approached, he observed how they stood around casually chatting, preening in reflectors, checking recording equipment and the positioning of their holo-cam tripods. The fur at the base of his neck began to prickle in irritation. 

_[*Don’t you people have anything better to do?!*]_ he bellowed.

Almost in unison, several dozen sets of eyes rotated in his direction. Chewie lengthened his stride and curled his upper lip in a snarl, fully intending to use his size and alien physique to intimidate his way through the small group and make his escape into the ship. Before he could reach his goal, however, the sound of approaching speeders reached his ears. Soon he was overtaken and caught up in a powerful blast of dust and dirt as the mob he’d left at the castle gates came zooming up the speedway and onto the landing field, swerving all around him as they vied for space to park. As each one came to a halt in turn, humanoids and aliens alike began pouring out of the landspeeders, pushing, tripping, and cursing one another as they rushed toward Chewbacca, jockeying for position on the interception line between the striding Wookiee and the resting freighter. The group of reporters who had staked out places near the _Falcon’s_ boarding ramp shouted and gestured angrily at the newcomers, their faces contorted into scowls and snarls of resentment. For purportedly sentient beings from advanced cultures, Chewie thought, their behavior was a far cry from civilized.

As he finally neared his destination, the closest reporter hurried forward, jabbering at him excitedly. An instant later, the rest of the crowd surged forward, accelerating towards Chewie like a wave. He released a frustrated yowl and then backpedaled, sidestepping around the perimeter of the landing gear to punch at the ship’s ramp access panel. Familiarity blurred the desperate press of his fingers on the keypad and the biometric scanner swept over the surface of his paw. Chewie smacked the enter key with a bit more urgency than he’d ever admit to and he was relieved to hear the sound of the ramp’s locking pins retracting, and then the groan of metal and hiss of hydraulics as the _Falcon’s_ starboard loading ramp began to creep down. The miasma of the media crowd—a nauseating blend of cosmetic powders, cheap colognes, and stale tabac overlain with breath fresheners—became almost overwhelming as the ramp whirred down at what seemed like a glacial pace. The reporters’ jabbering interrogation had Chewie nearly clawing at his ears. 

“Chewbacca, can you please comment on Tal Solo’s buzzing the judges’ stands on her victory lap at—”

He barked a startled, affectionate laugh. _[*Sure as hell sounds like her.*]_

“Sir! Is the Princess’s consort here to arrange for one of their daughters to—”

_[*No!*]_

“Chewbacca, is it true that you felt cheated by the New—”

Chewie tuned them out, bridling his tongue and keeping his eyes trained on the descending ramp, ignoring the nattering of voices that buzzed all around. After what felt like an eternity of enduring the intolerable press of perfume and starched clothes that hemmed him in, the ramp finally crunched down onto the loose base material of the landing pad. The sharp edge of a heeled shoe bit into the heel of Chewie’s foot pad, and he stepped to the side with a startled yelp. Seizing the opportunity, a green arm snaked around him from behind to shove a mini silver droid-faced translator mic into his face, bumping him square on the nose. For a moment, Chewie entertained the idea of biting the chrome device in half. 

The green face of a Twi’lek female appeared from beneath the fur drape of Chewie’s left arm, and he bared his teeth at her in surprise. “I’m so sorry for the intrusion,” she said, her voice dripping with an exaggerated tone of remorse. Her warm lekku traced around his forearm in what she must have assumed was a calming manner. “But can you please tell the public—”

Chewie shuddered and threw off the Twi’lek’s head tentacles with a disgusted grunt, and then shook his arm again for good measure. 

_[*Out of my way.*]_

He pushed through the cluster of press representatives, leading the way with his hip and shoulder, until he encountered a Bith technician clutching a large complex holocam rig who stood resolutely in his path. An oily-voiced older human female pushed her shoulder against Chewie’s elbow to squeeze in front of the cam. The residual stench of her perfume would probably be in his fur for weeks, he thought with dismay. 

“Can you tell us why General Solo has not accompanied you back to the ship?” she asked, in a voice laced with ingratiating enthusiasm. “Has the Life-debt finally been cashed out? Is the legendary partnership over?” 

_[*After this, it might be.*]_ Chewie said with a sarcastic snarl, despising her even more for questioning his loyalty to Solo. 

“Please, just give us a statement for the record, sir,” she insisted.

Thinking that the Princess might eventually catch wind of his encounter with the press on Areto, and seeing no other means to put an end to the encounter, Chewie diplomatically corrected himself. He straightened to his full, imposing height and fixed the woman with a chilly glare. _[*All I will say is that Han Solo has been asked to remain as an honored guest of the queen for a short time.*]_

There was a collective gasp from those within earshot of the reporter as the translator converted and replayed his words in Basic. “Anything else you’d like to add?” the woman asked with a greasy smile, keeping the translator trained in his direction.

_[*Yes. Get the hell away from this ship!*]_ Chewie shouldered his way through the warm mass of expensive suits and equipment. They continued to trail him up the ramp as the hatch door rolled up in its tracks. He took three long strides back down the ramp to stand in the midst of the group. Extending one shaggy arm, he pointed in the direction he wished the group to disperse. 

_[*Go! *]_ he bellowed, with all the ferocity of a Wookiee battle roar. _[*Behind the landing field perimeter. NOW!*]_

“But—”

_[*Translate this,*]_ he barked at the woman with the device, lowering his head down to her level and fixing her with an angry glare. _[*You have three seconds before I retract this ramp, with you on it.*]_

“We still don’t know why—”

Chewie marched pointedly back up the ramp. He stepped over the threshold and into the ship, and then turned to hover his palm over the control panel. _[*One*]_.

Wide-eyed, and not wishing to test the resolve of an exasperated Wookiee, the crowd finally scurried off the ramp. With a livid curse, Chewie slammed the button on the hatch’s control, and the heavy durasteel door rolled down. He leaned against the bulkhead for a moment, grateful for the respite. Above the creaking and grinding of the ramp as it retracted, he could still hear the excited din of the reporters beyond the door. 

“Well, it was worth the wait to get a scoop like _that_ ,” he heard the oily-voiced woman say. “I always knew the princess couldn’t hang onto a man like Han Solo for long....” 

“What? They’ve been together forever, Kina,” returned a disparaging voice. “Their oldest kid is in her twenties.” 

Evidently opting to ignore her colleague, the oily-voiced woman launched instead into what sounded to Chewie like an address to the holo-cam that was destined, no doubt, to go straight to the Sector’s gossip channels. 

_“This is Kina Potheks, reporting live from Galdoral Castle, with breaking news about the collapse of one of the galaxy’s most enduring, but sadly ill-fated marriages….”_

Chewie groaned and shook his head. _Great. Just great_. He couldn’t fathom how anything he’d said to the reporter could have been so woefully mistranslated, but he was damned if he was going to open the hatch again to correct the woman’s perceptions. The marriage between Han and Leia had been the subject of so much gossip over the years, Chewie had long since stopped paying any attention to it, anyway. And now he had more important things to attend to—such as getting in touch with Leia on Dubrillion, explaining the situation, and setting events in motion to rescue Han from his predicament. With a sigh, Chewie turned around, intending to head through the ring corridor towards the cockpit—and stopped cold, fixed in place by the familiar gaze of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed teenager.


	4. Han

Sitting on an ancient limestone windowsill more than a hundred dizzying metres above the rolling, crashing waves of the Saracallo Sea, Han dangled his arms and legs through the wrought-iron bars and wondered, not for the first time that afternoon, how the _hell_ he’d gotten into this predicament. Gazing out at the grey, windswept sea, he pondered over the situation for a while and came to a firm conclusion: it was _not_ his fault.

He’d only accepted this mission to the Corporate Sector planet because the New Republic’s Minister of Cultural Preservation and Reparations—who also happened to be his wife—had asked him to, as a personal favour. The invitation to attend the twentieth anniversary of the liberation of Areto had come at a time when Leia was heavily engaged in diplomatic negotiations on the nearby planet of Dubrillion, and she’d been forced to politely decline the offer from Areto. The Areti Royal House had then suggested that if Leia could not attend, perhaps her husband could; the invitation was subsequently extended to include Han—and Chewbacca, at Han’s request. The pair had been instrumental in the liberation of the planet, and their presence at this commemorative ceremony, it was intimated, would deeply honor the people of Areto. Han had planned to accompany Leia to Dubrillion anyway, bringing along their three youngest daughters, who were on a break from their studies. A quick side-trip to Areto would not only appease the Royal House, the Solos had decided, but also afford their daughters the opportunity to experience the culture of a relatively obscure world that they might otherwise never have reason to visit.

Han had performed due diligence, or a reasonable approximation of it anyway, in preparing for the visit, reacquainting himself with the local culture and customs. At Leia’s insistence, he’d even consulted with a few Areti nationals living off-world and working in the service of the New Republic. They were an intensely private people, it seemed, and though they remained oddly tight-lipped about the particulars of life on the planet, they were helpful in passing on valuable information about the basic social norms necessary to function in Areti society. Enough, at least, to ensure that Han would not inadvertently give offense or spark a galactic incident that would hinder future diplomatic negotiations. To prove to Leia that he was taking the assignment seriously—because, over the course of their long marriage he hadn’t _always_ taken such things very seriously—he’d even consulted her antiquated and vexatious protocol droid.

None of those measures, however, had prepared him for the shock of being informed by the Lady Chamberlain, as he’d been led into the throne room to stand before the haughty and imperious woman referred to as Queen Calissa the First—by the Grace of the Goddess, ruler of Barrinnica, Zarisia and Pellos, Head of the Federation and defender of the Faith—that the queen had decided to appropriate Han from his wife for the purposes of _procreation_.

Han sighed and pressed his forehead against the heavy metal crossbar, tightening his arms around the vertical rods and lacing his fingers together as he gazed down at the crashing sea. His ridiculous predicament would be kind of funny, he supposed, if it weren’t so damned disturbing—and if he weren’t stuck in the position of going along with it for a while. Kicking his booted feet against the rough edifice, he knocked loose a few flecks of stone and watched them tumble to the jagged basalt cliffs below, as he ruminated over the events of the past few hours.

Areti society had been matriarchal for centuries before the Empire had moved in and imposed its own firmly patriarchal structure. After the liberation of the planet by New Republic forces, however, they’d returned to their ancient roots and raised a queen from one of the few surviving royal houses. As a direct descendent and the heir of that woman, Calissa now ruled over the Areti people, and she was evidently quite determined to hold onto her power. To do that, she required a daughter to inherit the throne and so far, Han had learned, her husband—or _royal consort,_ as he’d been termed by Lady Trevain—had given her only sons; four of them in fact, ranging in age from six to sixteen. Now nearing the end of her childbearing years, and having learned of Han’s prolific production of daughters, Queen Calissa had laid plans to lure him to the planet with the intention of appropriating him from Leia. Speaking for the queen, Lady Trevain had explained to Han that he was to become the new royal consort, with the expectation that he would sire at least one daughter on the queen, and that Leia—who would no doubt be deeply honoured by Calissa’s choice of husband—would be compensated for her loss.

All of that information had been grasped only vaguely by a bewildered Han, and Chewbacca apparently had an even more difficult time absorbing it. With a wince, Han recalled how the big mophead had at first considered it to be some elaborate human joke, and had filled the queen’s audience chamber with his roaring, snuffling Wookiee laughter. The frosty glare of the monarch and the wide-eyed silence of the women and men of the court had quickly cast a chill on his jollity, however. Realizing the queen was serious in her intent, the Wookiee had quickly stifled his merriment, but the mirthful gleam in his bright blue eyes when he caught Han’s gaze told him that he still found his friend’s predicament highly amusing. Hell, Han would’ve thought it was pretty funny, too, if _he_ hadn’t been the one being taken into royal custody. It was no fun being treated like a piece of property that could be exchanged on a whim, with no reference to Han’s own preferences. Despite the Lady Chamberlain’s assurances that, as a matter of protocol, the queen would not expect to formalize—or consummate—the relationship until after Leia had been properly compensated, he didn’t relish the idea of sitting around waiting for his wife to come and fetch him.

He resumed picking at a limestone fleck on the stile, watching the wheeling and diving of the cliff dwelling avians, envying their airborne freedom. Another fingernail-sized sliver of rock popped loose and he flicked it into the void, watching dully as it skipped and skittered along the fortifications out of view. He could probably pick this palatial cage apart, he mused, in the time it would take for diplomacy to turn its rusty gears.

Still, as awkward as the situation was to endure, it presented an opportunity, too. It was exactly the sort of traditional practice the Areti people were going to have to curtail if they intended to join the New Republic. And _that_ type of negotiation—as well as any formal reprimand, if one were deemed necessary—was a job for Leia and her team, not for Han. He sighed again, thinking with a touch of wistfulness about the relative simplicity of his youth, when a well-placed blaster shot would’ve sorted the whole thing out in a hurry.

Stretching his long legs, he disentangled them from the bars, then eased himself off the sill to the polished granite floor, and stood up. After dusting his palms on the seat of his trousers, he splayed his hands across the small of his back and stretched, feeling the creak and pop of his spine as he pushed against the pinpoints of stiffness and ache that had settled deep in his muscles. Though he was still fit and strong, if not quite as limber as he used to be, there were days when he felt every one of his fifty-nine years, and this was definitely one of them.

Turning, he surveyed the room. He’d already searched it once in the minutes immediately following his incarceration. He’d made a circuit of the spacious bedroom, looking for any obvious means of egress apart from the main door, but—much to his dismay—he’d found none. He fully expected to be released without incident but, in the meantime, he didn’t like being confined with no plan or means of escape. Although he’d more-or-less agreed to be detained, his restless nature wouldn’t allow him to sit idly by, awaiting the pleasure of the queen.

He had acquiesced to his own capture partly out of a sense of duty to the New Republic to settle things peaceably and, if at all possible, without giving mortal insult that would make progress with the Areti people difficult. But his decision to go along with the queen’s scheme also stemmed from how well Han knew his wife; without question, Leia would want him to try the diplomatic route before he employed force or physical resistance. For that same reason, he’d waved Chewie off when the Wookiee had finally stopped snickering long enough to unsheathe his climbing claws and show his fangs, giving the Areti courtiers some cause for alarm. Having received assurances that he would not be taken to husband nor his so-called _honor_ besmirched until the negotiations with Leia were concluded, he’d given Chewie the nod to take off, on the understanding that his friend would go straight to Leia on Dubrillion and bring her back as quickly as possible.

He had whiled away the better part of half an hour on the windowsill, Han realized, and it occurred to him now that, though the door was undoubtedly locked, it might not be continually guarded. Swivelling on his heel, he crossed the room and stood before the door, running his eyes around the frame. He noted that the surrounding stone was well maintained and would be unlikely to break except under bombardment from heavy ordnance. He shrugged to himself, then took hold of the wrought iron handle, giving it a yank that made the thick wood shiver in its frame, the slats straining against the iron strips reinforcing them. There was no response from the other side, so Han put his left hand and right shoulder at the door, giving the door another sharp tug. The vibrations at his fingertips told him that the door had a crossbar that extended into the frame and beyond into the limestone stile, plus two barrel bolts at the bottom and top. The door rattled in its socket, then, and a small wicket opened up in the center of the wooden panel, revealing the concerned eye of a palace guard.

“Anything you require, General Solo?” the young voice of the sentry filtered through the barred aperture.

Looming his face close to the opening, Han gave the guard his most winning smile. “Not a thing, Junior. Just investigating my new premises. Carry on.”

The eye blinked at him and then the wicket rattled shut. Han took two steps back and noted where the shadow of the guard’s boots fell. If he had to, he wondered, could he find a way to pierce the door through that location and disable the guard? He noted the man’s position and then carried on with his investigation. Running his hands over the lintel and down the outer stile, he determined the castle masonry was well maintained and sturdily built. Breaking out of this place wouldn’t be easy, he admitted to himself, hoping fervently that it wouldn’t be necessary; with any luck, Chewie would make the journey to Dubrillion and back in record time.

Turning, he noted that the ceilings were smoothly worked pale limestone vaulting up into high arches, with a black iron chandelier hanging by a thick chain from the crossed point of vault ribbing at their apex. Noting that the columns supporting the structures were also smoothly surfaced, and their volutes rose well above the reach of Han’s arms, he wondered if, even in his long-gone youth, he could have scaled the walls and sabotaged the chandeliers or salvaged the chain for some use. It didn’t look promising, that was for sure. Maybe, he mused, he could rig the chains together, wrap them around a bedpost as a pulley and use them to pull the door in, somehow; while he pondered that possibility, Han paced back and forth, scuffing his boots for any loose floor section and kicking at the rugs, searching for some hidden escape underneath. He ran his hand in front of the walls and sections of decorative masonry, feeling for a draft, and was disappointed to discover that the room didn’t seem to have any secret passages. Straining to shove the heavy furniture aside, he checked behind the ancient wooden wardrobe and under the golden silk fringe of the bed to peer into the dim space there. Not even a dustball was to be seen. Han swore again, rising from his haunches, grimacing at the popping sounds that came from both knees.

He was definitely in a cage, and a very secure one at that. Glancing around, however, he decided that it was certainly the most opulent and comfortable cage he’d ever been contained in. It felt very much like something from one of those historical adventure stories that, until just a couple of years ago, his youngest daughter had insisted upon having read to her at bedtime.

The room was dominated by a massive and ornately carved four poster bed, set high off the floor on a sculpted plinth of the same dark grained wood, and draped with fabrics in rich hues of garnet, ochre, and gold that contrasted attractively against the variegated grey tones of the rough-hewn stone walls. Just beyond the foot of the bed and positioned in front of the open fireplace, two plush, inviting-looking chairs—fashioned from hand-carved wood and upholstered in the same warm colors—sat before a low table, upon which lay several old-fashioned books. Curious, he picked one up and thumbed through the brittle, yellowing pages; the words were faded, and written in a language Han didn’t understand, but he easily recognized the illustrations as ancient star charts of the sector.

Against one wall, adjacent to the open stone fireplace where the low flames of a burning hardwood fire flickered and danced, was a glass-fronted cabinet that stood at Han’s hip level. A quick survey revealed an impressive selection of rare vintage wines, brandies and whiskies—many of them Corellian, and all of them very expensive. On the far wall to the right of the bed was the towering wardrobe he’d struggled to move aside earlier, carved in the same ornate style as the bed frame. He crossed back to it and tugged open the heavy wooden doors, and was then intrigued to find it filled with a variety of clothing in the local style— _men’s_ clothing—that seemed, rather eerily, to be matched to his exact size, right down to the hand-made shoes and fur-lined slippers placed in a neat row across the bottom of the expansive cabinet.

Turning away from the wardrobe, Han’s gaze fell upon a datapad that sat on one of the two small tables that flanked the headboard of the wide bed. Adding to his growing feeling of discomfiture, Han flicked through the contents of the device and found them so familiar they may as well have been copied from his own personal datapad. All of the texts, charts, games and other information it contained were items he would have chosen for himself—topics ranging from starship schematics to swoop racing, smashball stats, even a book about how to raise the odds of winning at Sabacc—everything was perfectly aligned with his unique tastes.

Up until that point, Han had assumed that his imprisonment had been an impulsive act, something that the Areti queen had done without truly considering the ramifications of her actions, or perhaps a cultural misunderstanding that could be rectified easily enough once Leia arrived to advocate on his behalf. But standing in a room plucked straight from his imagination and filled with items tailor-made for him, he realized with a startling jolt of clarity that this was no random act of compulsion; the queen had been planning this for a while. And now, firmly ensnared in her trap, Han realized that escaping her clutches might be a little harder than he’d first surmised.

The shadow of restless movement and the occasional scuff of a boot or clink of armor confirmed that the door was still guarded and, Han supposed, it would remain so for the duration. With a sigh of resignation, he set the datapad on the low table positioned in front of the chairs, and then wandered back over to the liquor cabinet. After selecting a rare Corellian whiskey, he poured a generous measure into one of the crystal snifters that sat upon a silver tray atop the cabinet.

_What the hell,_ he shrugged to himself as he moved back over to the seating arrangement and settled down into a comfortable armchair. _Not much else I can do, anyway._ After taking a sip of his drink, he paused for a moment to appreciate its delicious flavor, savoring the smoothness of the amber liquid dissolving into a complex mosaic of caramel, spice and a hint of wood smoke on his tongue. He reached for the datapad he’d set down earlier, and began studying the titles of the texts a little more closely. They were all of interest, but one in particular caught his attention and caused him to give a little grunt of surprise: S _woop Racers: A Guide to Customization and Modification._ Taking another appreciative sip of his whiskey, he slouched down in the chair, stretching out his legs and crossing his booted ankles atop the low table, and began to read.

A short time later, with a pleasant glow from the alcohol coursing through his system, Han glanced up from his reading and cast another appraising look around his ‘cell’. The room was quiet, with no sound but the crackle and pop of the fire and the occasional shuffle or cough from a guard outside the door to break the peaceful silence. He was warm and comfortable, enjoying a fine whiskey and an interesting book, and surrounded on all sides by the luxurious trappings of wealth. It felt less like incarceration, and more like a retreat at a fine hotel.

He drained his whiskey and—before he headed back to the cabinet to refill his glass—decided he’d better start thinking of creative ways to embellish the story when the time came to describe the rigors of his dreadful ordeal to his wife.


	5. Serren

“Why, oh _whyyy_?” Kai Solo complained for what had to be the twentieth time that evening. The long-legged teen hung sprawled over the _Falcon_ ’s semicircular couch, with her shoulder in the cushion, her rump halfway up the seatback, and her legs hooked into the spare crew bunk embedded in the bulkhead above it. Her caramel-colored hair spilled down the front of the bench as she tilted her head and fixed her twin with an upside-down gaze, her dark brown eyes flashing. “They leave us with fifty measly creds for take-out, and then _they_ go out and get fed all sorts of fancy food at the palace? Not fair.”

“Fancy food, sure, but who wants it?” Serren made a face at her sister. “Mystery-meat pies, poached Vaoloi, and _salad_.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “And who knows what kind of local cuisine they’d feed us here. Probably raw _rizhi_ and fish eggs, since we’re so close to the sea,” she pointed out in her best matter of fact tone. “We’re much better off here; we get to stay out late, explore the area, eat whatever we want. _Mmm,_ those _cacari_ drops were so good….” The sixteen-year-old sighed and licked her lips, fondly recalling the packet of spicy chocolate morsels she’d purchased from a sweets shop in the town center. She had promptly devoured the lot, though, and now found herself wishing she’d shelled out a few more credits for the bigger bag. Pushing back a long strand of golden blonde hair that had become tacked to a sticky spot at the corner of her mouth, she gave her sister a shrug. “At least this time there _is_ a town to explore. Not like last year, when they took us to Malastare for a week. Stars, I’ve never been so bored.”

“ _Mmm,_ that reminds me.” Kai swivelled around on the seat and sat up, then started rummaging through her pockets, finally extracting a carmine-colored piece of rock candy. As her twin looked on in disgust, Kai flicked off a few visible specks of lint, blew on the rest and shoved the spicy sweet into her mouth, rolling it around noisily to eventually settle in her cheek. “That trip was a great idea, wasn’t it, gals?”

Serren exchanged a glance with their younger sister Brin, who was hunkered over her workbench nearby, tinkering with the carcasses and innards of a couple of small repulsors that she had laid out for experimental modification. They rolled their eyes at their smug sibling and chanted in unison, affecting a bored, robotic monotone,“ _Yes-Kai. You-had-yet-another-great-idea-Kai_.”

“And we had all of those extra credits to spend, too,” Brin added, returning her attention back to her project. “Thanks to _my_ amazing money-making skills.”

Serren shot Brin a withering look, though the younger girl was oblivious to it. “You mean, thanks to your exploitation of our father’s reputation.”

That afternoon, a few of the older students from the nearby private academy had been attracted by the presence of the storied, antique freighter so close to the palace grounds. Although they were far into the Outer Rim, it seemed the reputation of the ship, arising from its prominent role in the Galactic Civil War, was well-known even on some of the more isolated worlds. The small gathering of curious teens had increased to a noisome, admiring group after Serren and her sisters had revealed themselves to be associated with the famous ship, and the subsequent flirtatious banter had almost outstripped the number of questions about the freighter. Comments were made about the _Falcon_ ’s mighty AG-2G turret cannons, the thick grade of a salvaged Imperial cruiser’s duralloy armor plating covering the freighter's hull, and the SLAM-enhanced Girodyne sublights. Credit-wily Brin had then boldly offered their visitors a short tour of the ship—for a nominal fee, of course—which most had gleefully accepted.

They were _private school_ kids after all, Brin had justified to her sisters at the time; it wasn’t like they couldn’t afford it.

“Mom would kill you if she knew about that, Quark,” Kai smirked. She knew how much Brin disliked that particular nickname, which was precisely why she used it so often. Serren gave her twin a disapproving frown, which Kai blithely ignored.

Brin sniffed, seemingly unconcerned. “Maybe so,” she conceded, “but something tells me Dad would approve.”

Kai removed the candy from her mouth, and studied it in the glare of the overhead lights. “You know, that blond guy, the smashball player—”

Serren rolled her eyes and groaned; she knew her twin well enough to know exactly where this was going. Kai had been smitten by a particular blue-eyed, baritone-voiced jock from among the group of boys who’d visited earlier. Feeling apprehensive in case word of their exploits got back to their father, Serren had insisted that the group vacate the premises after their tour, and Kai had been mooning over the Bantha-sized hunk of muscle ever since. She insisted that he resembled the holovid star that had portrayed the golden-maned Corellian God of Battle in a recent trilogy of popular, high-budget holovids. Serren had never quite understood Kai’s fascination with the brawny actor in the first place, and she certainly didn't grasp her sister’s sudden interest in a substandard replica from a backwater planet on the edge of the Unknown Regions.

“Jeez, Kai, that guy didn’t even have a neck,” Brin muttered. With thick goggles perched on her pert nose, the fourteen-year-old lifted her head from her soldering work, her blue eyes just visible through the heavily tinted lenses. Tilting her head to the right, her wavy chestnut locks bobbed against her chin as she pursed her lips in a skeptical expression. “Did you even look at his face?”

Kai made a rude gesture. Brin cheerfully returned it, clutching a measuring calliper between her knuckles as she waggled two fingers in an equally ill-mannered salute before casually resuming her welding task. Though she knew her sister wasn’t looking, Kai still scowled and stuck out her tongue in Brin’s direction.

Serren swiped a palm over her face and rolled her eyes, thinking of what their mother would say if she were here, and biting her tongue against the urge to chastise them in her mother’s place. She’d been admonished more than once for such interventions.

“Just ‘cause _you_ like that skinny, flop-haired boy-band guy,” Kai retorted in a mocking tone. The limber teen had returned to her former upside-down position on the accelerator couch, and now positioned her hands near her ears and pushed her body up until she was standing on her head. Balancing against the back of the seat with the top of her head on the bottom cushions, she stretched her legs up until they disappeared halfway into the upper bunk. Risking her balance, she lifted one hand and waggled an accusatory finger at Serren. “And _you!_ You just looked down your nose at ‘em like they were little kids or something! What’s up with that? You are such an old—”

“I swear you think _every_ boy you meet is cute, Kai,” Serren snapped. “Today it’s that pumped-up jock; yesterday, it was the queen’s eldest son....”

Kai grinned. “Can I help it if she keeps trotting him out in front of us every chance she gets? And I don’t care what you say. Prince Nethan is _so_ _fine._ ”

“Don't forget the Hapan Duchess’s kid that one time,” Brin muttered, carefully controlling her voice and her breathing so as to not disrupt her manipulations of the fine filaments of wire within the magnetic condenser relay. “That was a disaster.”

“And how about the skinny one with the sparkly implants on Socorro?” Serren reminded them, sending Brin into a fit of giggles that shook her shoulders and caused her to lift the tip of the solderer, momentarily halting her delicate task.

“Oh, _Ha. Ha_ ,” Kai said, her voice edged with sarcasm. She rolled her dark brown eyes in derision. “Just because you two haven’t even ki—”

“Wait,” Serren raised her index finger and cocked her head to the side as if listening to something. She unfurled herself from the convoluted meditative position she had taken up on the deck plates of the lounge, and rose to her feet in one fluid motion. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and the corner of her mouth lifted into a half smile. “Chewie’s coming,” she said with certainty. She opened her eyes again and glanced around them, taking note of the piles of sweets wrappers, take-out containers, and disposable sugared beverage cans. Her face fell; Chewie was going to have a fit at the state of the ship, not to mention the reaction they could expect from their father....

_Wait, where’s Dad?_

Kai, still balanced on her head, fixed her twin with a quizzical look. Serren shook her head, silently communicating that something was amiss. In unison, the two of them closed their eyes in concentration. Beside Serren, at the temporary workbench, Brin leaned back on her stool and pushed the goggles up her forehead into her wavy mop of hair. Her brow furrowed as she set her macrofuser down on the bench and began to slowly, methodically strip off her insulated work gloves, keeping her gaze flicking between the twins all the while.

“Something—” Kai began, biting her bottom lip. “There’s a big mess of people. They’re all eager and excited and... _greedy_. Chewie’s there,” the young Jedi-in-training determined. Her strengths did not align with Serren’s more passive mental abilities of precognition and Force Sight.  Rather, Kai’s developing skills seemed more physically oriented, centered on speed and stealth. Still, that didn't stop her from trying to keep pace with her twin at every turn.

“Dad’s not with him,” Serren declared, confident of that fact now. She cast a searching tendril of the Force outwards, struggling to discern Han’s presence from the minds of the beings surrounding him. Though Force-blind himself, Han Solo often kept a tight rein on his emotions, occasionally confounding the best efforts of even his three Force-sensitive offspring. She sensed her father was a bit distant at present, a little distracted, but he seemed unconcerned.

Chewie’s approaching presence though, was a different matter altogether; he _was_ concerned about something, as well as agitated and annoyed. Serren released the breath she had been holding as Kai tumbled down from her headstand and slumped off the backrest, spinning her slim frame on the cushion to collapse in a horizontal sprawl on the bench. She, too, looked around the ship’s common area at the aftermath of their junk food free-for-all, and groaned.

Hearing the distinctive sound of the pins unlocking that secured the outer ramp in place, Brin slapped her gloves down and rotated out of her seat. She made a dramatically slow grab for a sweet jelly wrapper. “C’mon, help me clean this up,” she ordered. Bending over, she picked up a crisps wrapper, crumpled it up and threw it at the supine Kai. The young woman caught it easily, and rose from her lounging position to cram it into the nearby waste recycler.

Serren grabbed the empty sack that had contained the chocolate she’d downed and tossed it into the bin, casting her eyes around the hold at the considerable evidence of their teenaged gluttony littered around their father’s starship. And now, instead of working to straighten things up, Brin and Kai were laughing, squabbling over a leftover quarter-bag of salted crisp crumbs. Serren had just opened her mouth to give them both a stern talking-to when they heard the echoing rattle of the hatch door clanging up in its tracks. A startled hush descended, and all three froze in place, listening to the angry tone of Chewbacca’s growl.

“Blast it! He’s coming! Evasive maneuvers!” Serren hissed at her sisters. The girls launched into overdrive, scrambling around in a mad effort to dispose of the mess, stuffing the trash receptacle to the point of overflowing as the automatic recycler struggled to keep up with the speed of the incoming waste. As the girls scurried about, they could hear the distant drone of numerous voices, and Chewie’s gruff answering barks.

_[*Yes. Get the hell away from this ship!*]_ the Wookiee growled.

“Who’s out there?” Kai wondered aloud.

“I dunno, but Chewie’s _really_ not going to be in a good mood when he gets in here if they keep bugging him when he’s already upset,“ Brin lamented from her position on her knees, sweeping crumbs from underneath the _dejarik_ table into a makeshift dustpan fashioned from a piece of blueprint flimsi.

_[*Translate_ this _.*]_ Chewie’s annoyed bark drifted from the hall beyond. _[*You have three seconds before I retract this ramp, with you on it.*]_

Out of the corner of her eye, Serren spied a pile of crumbs littering the engineering console where Kai had been seated earlier. Panicked, she raced over to it, her feet skidding on the deck plates as she came to a sliding halt in front of the station. With a wide sweep of her sleeve, she brushed the offending crumbs onto the floor.

Motioning for her sisters to hurry, Serren moved down the corridor in preparation for intercepting their father’s best friend and co-pilot, mustering up her best smile and rehearsing the beginnings of an explanatory speech in the event that her sisters didn't manage to pull it off on time. As she rounded the corner, she was surprised to see Chewbacca retreating into the hold through the hatch, still bellowing at the unseen cluster of beings outside. He slapped his paw on the door control and, as the durasteel aperture slammed down beside him, finally sagged against the metal frame support, growling under his breath. Once he had composed himself, Chewie pushed his bulk off the durasteel beam and spun on his heel, only to stop dead in his tracks as he came face to face with Serren’s questioning gaze.

Apparently having decided that the hold was presentable enough, Kai and Brin joined their sister at the hatch, fanning out to flank her on either side.

“Uncle Chewie, what’s going on?” The normally reserved Brin spoke first, scowling past the Wookiee’s shoulder. “What happened to Dad?”

The Wookiee hesitated, glancing from Brin over to Kai before settling his blue gaze on Serren in the middle. _[*You three should go clean up the mess you have made in your father’s ship.*]_

Chewbacca hadn’t even progressed far enough into the _Falcon_ ’s interior to have glimpsed the main hold, so he couldn’t possibly know what sort of state it was in. But he’d known them all their lives and Serren had to concede that he knew them very well. Still, he was obviously deflecting, trying to redirect their attention from concern over their father’s whereabouts. She wondered why he would bother, if there was nothing to be concerned about. Before she could speak, though, impatient Brin piped up again.

“Here we go again. No one ever tells us _anything_. Why does everyone treat us like children?” she complained.

_[*You are children*]_ Chewie pointed out. _[*And there are some matters that do not concern you.*]_

“If it concerns Dad, then it does concern us,” Kai countered daringly. “Besides, something’s up; we can _feel_ it. What’s wrong? Why didn't he come back with you?”

_[*It’s nothing.*]_ he insisted, pushing past the girls and making his way down the ring corridor. _[*Just another minor misadventure,*]_ he muttered, then drew a deep breath and ordered sternly, _[*Now go and find something to occupy yourselves. I need to speak to your mother.*]_

“You’re calling Mom?” Brin asked, incredulous. “Now I _know_ something’s wrong.”

_[*Nothing that can’t be put right._ _I just have to talk to your mother,*]_ Chewie repeated, and dismissed the trio with a wave of his shaggy arm. _[*Finish cleaning up the food remains from the tables and decking. And get yourselves cleaned up as well; the odors in here are overwhelming.*]_ Turning, he strode away down the starboard corridor toward the cockpit.

Serren caught the bemused look that Kai cast in her direction. _Go_ , she mouthed silently to her sisters, and turned to trail behind Chewbacca, warily eyeing the raised line of fur on his spine that indicated the Wookiee’s agitation.

“Chewie,” Serren called after him, her voice low and serious. He came to a halt in front of the cockpit door, keeping his massive frame angled away from her. She reached out and touched Chewbacca’s furred arm; his paw hovered over the cockpit’s door access, and she saw his blue irises flicker as he cast her a sidelong glance, measuring her out of the corner of his eye. Serren felt that weird sensation she often got around Chewie, that familiar, age-old feeling of deep respect and love she had for the Wookiee who had been a constant presence in her life for as long as she could remember. At more than two centuries old, he was a veteran of the Clone Wars as well as the war against the Empire and, to Serren, he embodied the noble warrior spirit. She respected him not only as an elder, but as a treasured member of her family; he had spent years by her father’s side, and was as close to her and her sisters as any blood relation could ever be. As he appraised her with his calm, azure gaze, Serren could tell that he was drawing on an ancient well of wisdom, judging her maturity, and assessing her worthiness. She could feel his profound love for her emanating through the Force—although it was overlaid with a dim sensation of annoyance.

_Tell me,_ Serren floated out to him, though she knew he was Force-blind.

_[*It is nothing to worry about, Little One.*]_ Chewbacca said in a low growl, as he pressed his massive paw against the access panel. _[*Go back to your sisters.*]_

“I’m old enough, you know that. Please tell me what's going on.” Serren found herself addressing his back as he ducked through the tall octagonal door and into the cockpit beyond. Once over the threshold, Chewie turned back, lowering his head a half meter to peer down at the young woman who dogged his heels.

_[*Yes, cub, but they are not.*] _He indicated the two girls hovering at a polite distance at the curve of the corridor. Despite Serren’s earlier insistence, it was apparent that Kai and Brin had decided to ignore her directions. Serren grimaced and Chewie chuckled. [*Go and join your sisters, and get them to prepare for lift. We’ll be leaving soon.*]

With a sharp hiss, the door slid shut in Serren’s face. She leaned against it, pressing her forehead against the cool steel, and heaved a deep sigh.

“What does he mean ‘I’m not old enough’?” Kai groused. “I’m your _twin_ ; we’re exactly the same age. Hell, I’m three minutes older!”

Straightening, Serren tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and started back for the lounge, sliding past her siblings where they stood rooted to the corridor. “What do you _think_ he means,” she muttered darkly as she passed. “C’mon you two, let’s get that hold finished up,” she tossed over her shoulder. “It’ll take a few minutes for Chewie to get the comm going anyway, and to get past Mom’s assistant.”

Rolling her eyes, Kai fell into step behind her sister.

“Yes, _mother_ ,” Brin mumbled, trailing after the pair.

Ten minutes later, with the tables, engineering station and couch wiped down with sani, and a small vacuuming droid muttering in binary as it scrubbed the residual drink stains from the decking, Serren and Kai stood huddled around Brin at the comm station, watching their younger sister’s fingers flying over the controls. Kai stood on her left, hunched over the display, while Serren hovered over them both, with one hand resting on each of her siblings’ shoulders.

“Haven't you figured it out _yet_ , Miss I-can-slice-through-anything?” Kai griped, ignoring her twin’s shushing noises. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Almost there,” Brin muttered. “I just need to finish remodulating for interference from the palace’s jamming frequency, and adjust for the signal damper that Chewie used to try to scramble the comm band and….” She struck the final keystroke with a flourish and paused, lifting her hands off the control panel and holding them over her headset-covered ears, cocking her head to the side and listening intently. “We’re in,” she said with a broad grin, stripping off the gear. “I _told_ you there was no disruption sequence that I couldn't get past.”

“Put it on conference, Brin,” Serren urged in a whisper. “But keep the volume down. You know what Chewie’s hearing is like.”

Brin twitched her fingers over the controls and the voice of their mother floated out of the speakers.

“And you say that he went _willingly_?” Leia’s voice sounded tinny and far away to Serren’s ears, but the tone of disbelief came through loud and clear.

_[*I would not say_ willingly _;_ peacefully _is a more accurate description.*]_ Chewbacca growled.

“Nobody died?” Leia asked, incredulous.

_[*Nobody died.*]_ Chewie confirmed with a short grunt.

“And he didn’t shoot at anyone?”

_[*No one was harmed. He followed your instructions exactly, and in keeping with local customs, he didn’t even bring his sidearm.*]_

There was a pause; all three girls held their breaths, listening to the crackle of static over the comm.

“He doesn’t even have his blaster?” The tone of Leia’s voice changed sharply from bewilderment to worry. “The _one_ time he follows instructions precisely...” she grumbled. “Chewie, are you certain he’s alright?”

_[*He was when I last saw him,*]_ the Wookiee offered gently. _[*Princess, he thought he was doing the right thing, and he convinced me of the same. He’s counting on your skill at diplomacy to get him out of this.*]_

There was another, longer pause, and then the sound of a disbelieving laugh from Leia.

_[*If it helps, he is not completely unarmed. He was able to conceal a holdout blaster and a couple of ‘blades.*]_

Leia exhaled with a huff. “Well, that’s better than nothing, I guess. He’s been known to do quite a bit of damage with a lot less.”

There was dry snort of laughter from Chewie. _[*That is true, Little Princess.*]_

“How are the girls holding up?” Leia asked.

There was another rumble of amusement from the Wookiee. _[*The children are fine. In fact, I believe they have succeeded in intercepting this transmission, and are listening to every word we say. Say hello to your mother, girls.*]_

Kai muttered a mild curse and cuffed the back of Brin’s head, only to receive a sharp elbow to the belly in return as the two of them began hissing imprecations and accusations at each other.

“Stop it,” Serren snapped at them both. She looked at Brin, who seemed duly chagrined at her blunder. “Nice try, sis, but Chewie’s the one who taught you everything you know,” she shrugged, gesturing at the comms station.

“Yeah,” Brin sighed ruefully, sitting back in her chair. “But not everything _he_ knows.”

Serren reached over her sister’s shoulder to key in the sequence that would enable outgoing transmissions. “Hi, Mom,” she said when it was done, striving for an even tone.

Leia’s displeasure was somehow nearly palpable even before they heard her voice. All three girls cringed a little as she spoke. “Eavesdropping on a private conversation?” Leia queried, her tone deceptively mild. “Is that how you’ve been brought up to behave?”

Kai scowled, Brin’s lip jutted out in a small pout and Serren winced. “Sorry, Mom,” she offered. “Sorry, Chewie. We were just worried about Dad….”

Leia’s weary sigh echoed from the speakers. “We’ll discuss your trespasses later. Don’t worry about your father. He can take care of himself, and I’ll get there as soon as I can. Chewie,” Leia switched crisply back to the conversation that had been so rudely interrupted. “I’m at a crucial stage here. We’ve just begun a panel review of the final draft of the proposed agreement, which will take me the rest of today and probably all day tomorrow. I can cancel it if I must, but there could be unpleasant ramifications if I were to leave the negotiations at this point. Do you think Han will be okay for a day or two?”

_[*I think so, Princess. The queen has indicated that she wishes to observe the formalities in accordance with their traditions, so no wedding ceremony will take place until after she has…. *]_

“Wait, _what?_ ” Kai interjected. “Wedding ceremony?”

“ _Jaina_ _Kai Solo_ ,” Leia snapped back. The princess didn’t need to say anything more; the use of Kai’s full name was generally reserved for those moments when one or the other of her parents wanted to make it clear they’d had enough of her nonsense. Kai subsided, pressing her lips together and narrowing her eyes.

Serren gave her twin a rueful, sympathetic smile. She knew her well enough to know _that_ look, too; the one that made it clear that Kai still had plenty to say, but knew better than to push her luck. Serren couldn’t blame her sister, though. The mention of a wedding ceremony was utterly baffling, and no doubt they were all wondering the same thing.

“You girls don’t need to worry,” Leia assured in a softer tone. “There’s been a misunderstanding, that’s all. We’ll get this sorted out as soon as possible. In the meantime, your father is not in any danger, so there’s no need for you to be concerned. Just enjoy the rest of your time on Areto, and I’ll see you soon, okay?”

In turn, Brin and Serren both mumbled their acquiescence, but Kai remained stoically silent, standing with her arms crossed in a defensive posture across her chest, and keeping her lips pressed in a thin line.

“Good, then that’s settled,” Leia said, with an air of finality that left no doubt that any further discussion on the matter would not be entertained, at least for the time being. “Chewie,” she continued, directing the discussion back to the Wookiee, ”I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come to Dubrillion. I can’t impose on any of the other delegates, not while negotiations are still in high gear, and the only ship I’d be able to take from here at such short notice is freight transport. I have no other means of getting there.”

_[*I anticipated that, Princess. I am preparing the_ Falcon _for departure as we speak; she will be ready to lift when you give the signal.*]_

*I know I can count on you, Chewie, and I’m grateful. I’ll contact you when I have a clearer picture of the timeline. In the meantime, try to make sure Han doesn’t do anything, _ummm_ ….” Her voice trailed off.

Chewie gave another dry snort. _[*I believe the word you’re searching for is_ reckless. _*]_

“I was going to say _Han-ish_ , but that about sums it up,” Leia said with a light laugh. “Just...keep an eye on the situation—and the girls—in the meantime. And Chewie...thank you.”

  



	6. Han

 

Han lay stretched out on his back in the center of the massive bed, staring up at the underside of the patterned canopy, struggling to fall asleep. He needed to rest. Despite his consumption of a generous measure of Corellian whiskey the evening before, he had slept fitfully; tossing and turning and waking frequently through the night. The uncertainty of his situation, the strangeness of the bed, and the absence of his wife all combined to give him the most wretched night’s sleep he’d had in years. To make matters worse, there was very little of interest to do in his palatial prison—apart from plundering the well-stocked bar again—which meant that time was passing with agonizing slowness. A nap would at least kill a few hours, he figured, and might also restore his flagging energy.

He’d been awakened a few hours earlier by a polite knock at the door, and then a guard had entered bearing a tray with a sumptuous breakfast of kaffe, some delicious-smelling variety of local smoked meat and eggs, fresh bread, and a platter of artfully arranged exotic fruit. Han had attempted to engage the stony-faced human in conversation, but as soon as he’d set the tray down on the table in front of the fire, the young man had turned on his heel and scurried back out of the room, without a word in response.

Since then, Han had tried to keep himself occupied in a vain effort to stave away anxious thoughts of Leia and the girls. By now, word of his predicament would have reached Dubrillion, and no doubt Leia would be worried, although Han hoped Chewie’s first-hand account of what had transpired would alleviate some of that concern. Provided Leia turned up in good time to deal with the Areti queen in person, Han’s present situation would soon become a barely memorable footnote to his long and colorful history as an occasional representative of the New Republic. It was an ignominious predicament to be in, of course, but it was nothing Leia couldn’t handle.

At first, he’d tried to sit quietly and read—the selection of material was, after all, perfectly aligned with his personal interests—but he had too much pent-up energy to settle down or concentrate. Next, he’d tried playing a racing game on the datapad, but he was too distracted by his wandering thoughts for the light diversion to hold his interest for long. Watching the circling flocks of seabirds as they dipped and dove into the water outside the barred window was getting terribly dull, and there was only so much pacing around the confines of the room that he could do. Finally, bereft of any other ideas to pass the time, Han had drawn the heavy drapes to block the intensity of the midday sun, and flopped back down on the bed. Despite his fatigue, however, sleep was not coming as easily as he’d hoped. His mind was racing, and in an effort to quell his restless thoughts, he resorted to counting the silken tassels attached to the outer edge of the textured fabric draped over the top of the bed. Before long, the dangling tufts were swimming in front of his weary eyes.

He was just drifting off when the sound of activity on the other side of the door jolted him back to a state of high alert, and he sat bolt upright. In an instant, he was on his feet and facing the entrance, allowing himself a brief but reassuring brush of his fingers against the outline of the holdout blaster strapped to his left arm. He didn’t expect to have reason to use it, but he didn’t enjoy feeling completely helpless, either, and the tangible presence of a basic backup plan provided him a certain measure of comfort.

All traces of his earlier drowsiness now vanished, Han focused sharp eyes on the door and waited, his body tensed and at the ready. He listened intently as an exchange of words in the native Areti language began on the other side and quickly escalated in volume and intensity. One of the voices—deep, orotund, authoritative and male—uttered a series what sounded like clipped imperatives to the guards, which was followed by the frantic shuffling of feet, and then the jangling of keys and the metallic scrape of the pins turning in the door’s ancient mechanical lock. The door cracked open, casting a thin sliver of golden light across the rough stone floor, and then opened fully to reveal the form of a tall human male, draped in formal robes that fluttered like dark wings, stirred by the current of air swirling in the wake of the door swinging wide.

His shoulders squared and his head held high, the newcomer stepped across the threshold. Han watched as the man’s keen azure eyes traveled from one side of the room to the other, as if searching for any possible threats. Finding none, he then turned to peer back over his shoulder and nodded once to the unseen guard beyond. The heavy door creaked on its ancient hinges, and then closed tightly behind the man and latched with a pronounced thud. Turning his head, the visitor regarded Han with a look that the Corellian recognized at once as thinly veiled disdain, and then crossed to the window in several long strides, drew back the closed curtains and pivoted around to face Han once more. Han blinked as the room flooded with sunlight and, as his vision slowly adjusted, he made his first detailed evaluation of the man who had disturbed his repose.

He was perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, Han estimated, and he stood at about the same height as Han himself, although with a noticeably stockier build. His prominent, pale-blue eyes were set into a faintly cherubic face, and his generous lips were fixed in a smile that Han read at once as insincere. The man’s short, neatly trimmed beard concealed a rounded jawline, and the cut of the tunic beneath his tailored robe was clearly designed to disguise his broad, barrel-like torso. He radiated the air of a man who was impeccably groomed, abundantly fed, and insufferably vain.

Having devoted a sizeable amount of effort into learning the basic structure of the Royal House itself, and the names and faces of the hierarchy that ruled within it, Han knew exactly who it was that stood before him now. Even if he hadn’t already recognized the man’s face from the images he’d seen, Han knew that a male in a position of influence was an anomaly in Areto’s female-dominated culture. The visitor’s authoritative mannerisms and his ability to impose his will upon others despite the disadvantage of his gender made his position abundantly clear.

The man fixed Han with a cool, pointed gaze. “Forgive the intrusion,” he said, executing a partial bow. As he dipped down, he splayed the perfectly manicured fingers of one hand over his heart, ostentatiously displaying the ornate rings that adorned his fingers, each of which featured a large, polished gem at its center. Despite his attempt to seem courteous, the man’s voice held a disparaging tone, one that he made little effort to disguise. “It was terribly uncivilized to burst in on you unannounced. Please allow me to introduce myself; I am Amadi Yavalor Rellius, of House Istafan, the queen’s Royal Consort and Lord of the Realm.”

“Yeah, I know who you are, pal” Han said flatly, ignoring both protocol and the niggling Leia-like voice in the back of his mind reminding him that Rellius would expect to be addressed as _Your Lordship_ or something equally grandiose. Stepping away from the edge of the bed and down from the wide plinth on which it stood, Han took a square stance opposite the other man, folded his arms over his chest, and raised his chin. “What I wanna know is what you _want_.”

“ _Captain_ Solo,” Rellius said in an unctuous voice, feigning a smile. “There’s no need for such suspicion, I assure you. I want nothing from you. In fact, I came here to _help_ you.”

“Help me?” Han queried, choosing to ignore what appeared to be Rellius’ retaliatory inaccuracy with regards to his rank. “I don’t need any help.”

“Of course you do. You want to escape, don’t you? And I can facilitate that for you.” Moving with fluid grace, Rellius crossed the room to stand before the liquor cabinet and then bent to open the ornately carved doors. “But first, I believe this occasion calls for a drink. After all, I _am_ in the presence of the esteemed liberator of this great planet, am I not? It would be ungracious of me not to offer a toast.” He glanced over his shoulder at Han, who still stood rooted in place. “Do you have a preference, Captain?”

Han shifted his stance a little, unfolding his arms and jamming his hands into his pockets, though he kept his eyes locked on Rellius. He’d taken an instant dislike to the fellow. Everything about the man’s demeanour—and Han’s own keen instincts, honed from decades of experience—told him to be cautious. And that crack about Han as liberator of the planet only heightened his wariness. Although it was true that Han, along with Chewie and a number of other New Republic military leaders, had taken part in the liberation of Areto from the last bastion of Imperial presence in this sector some twenty years ago, something in Rellius’ tone made it sound like a _bad_ thing.

“Fine,” Rellius continued, glossing over Han’s lack of response. “My choice it is, then.” He turned back around to peer into the cabinet, running his fingers over the rows of bottles. At length and with a satisfied murmur, he extracted a clear crystal flask filled with a deep rose-colored liquid, and then straightened his posture and held the bottle up to the light, scrutinizing the label carefully. “Ah yes,” he said. “This is one of my favorites, aged right here on the premises. This will do nicely.” He pulled the stopper from the decanter and splashed some of the viscous rose liquid into each of two crystal tumblers. He then set the decanter atop the cabinet and turned, a glass in each hand, and approached the fireplace.

“Join me, Captain,” he said, indicating with a jerk of his chin the pair of upholstered chairs arranged on either side of the low table situated there.

Han hesitated; he didn’t want to have a conversation with this man, much less share a drink with him. He eyed the contents of the two glasses Rellius carried. Still leery of the younger man’s motives, he couldn’t be sure that the drinks hadn’t been spiked when they were out of view, and Han had already decided that the situation demanded that he keep a clear head.

“Please, sit down,” Rellius insisted, extending a tumbler in Han’s direction and giving it a little wobble. “We have a matter of some importance to discuss, you and I.”

With a heavy sigh, Han complied, keeping a wary eye on Rellius as he stepped forward and accepted the tumbler, and then moved over to sit down on the edge of one of the wingback chairs. Still holding Rellius’ gaze, Han reached forward to set the untouched drink down atop the table, silently relishing the look of consternation that flickered across the Areti royal’s face. Han settled himself into the plush depths of the chair and adopted a slightly slumped posture, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands on his abdomen.

Rellius recovered his noble composure quickly. Offering Han an ingratiating smile, he eased into the opposite chair and crossed one leg over the other, resting lightly against the chair cushions but maintaining an upright posture. He sipped tentatively at the drink, sighed in appreciation, and then took a larger swallow.

“So _..._ the legendary Han Solo, in the flesh,” he ventured in a conversational tone, sliding his cool gaze over Han from head to toe, appearing to assess him with critical eyes. Completing his evaluation, he nodded and gave a low hum. “Not a bad choice, I must admit. You’re in good physical condition for a man of your age—what are you now, fifty-eight? Fifty-nine? And it appears you have a few desirable genetic traits despite the degenerate Corellian contaminates. I can almost see why Calissa desires you.” Rellius shook his head in disbelief and then took another sip of his drink, leveling his gaze at Han over the rim of his glass. “Almost.”

Rellius’ condescending tone and blatant insults raised the hair on the back of Han’s neck, and he had to fight to suppress the urge to demonstrate—with a quick uppercut to the smarmy royal’s plump, rounded jaw—exactly what a man of his age was capable of doing with such provocation. But Leia’s parting behest to protect her tentative progress in this sector still echoed in his mind, compelling him to keep his hands to himself and hold his tongue. He chose instead to draw a calming breath, and at length he responded, striving for his most genial and even tone. “Look, pal, the queen may have chosen me for this crackpot scheme of hers, but that doesn’t mean I’m gonna go along with it.”

Resting the glass against his bent knee, Rellius raised a single querying eyebrow at Han. “And yet, here you are. A pirate and a smuggler turned royal consort, now poised to usurp my position and occupy the seat of yet another ancient house. A seat that rightfully belongs to me.”

“I’m tryin’ to tell you, buddy, I don’t _want_ your seat,” Han stressed, choosing to ignore the _pirate_ remark, though it rankled.

“But that is what the queen wants. And the queen gets what she wants, always,” Rellius said, emphasizing the final word.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.” Han bit back everything else he wanted to say about the queen’s offensive behavior and the backwardness of Areto’s outrageously sexist society. There would be plenty of time for him to rant later on, when he was safely back on his ship and departing the sector. “I only came to this planet for the diplomatic feel-good show. I’m no threat to you; I have no designs on your position, and I already have a wife of my own. And trust me, she won’t take kindly to sharing.”

“Then this will be a perfunctory discussion. No matter what your intentions might be—or the queen’s, for that matter—I think we can arrive at a mutually desirable outcome. You will make your escape this evening by ‘overpowering’ the inept and conveniently sedated guards outside your door. You will travel via the west shore gate along the low tide line, and walk along the jetty there, which will take you to an outcrop where you can climb up the bluff under cover of darkness and return to your ship. The guards who are stationed there this evening will be...somewhat less vigilant than usual. If executed properly, you can escape this castle unscathed, and no one will be aware of your absence until morning.”

Han pondered Rellius’ offer. In researching the situation on Areto, he’d learned enough about the queen to know that she would likely view his unapproved departure, no matter how it was accomplished, as a mortal insult. Although her husband’s offer of an easy escape was tempting, Han knew that such a blatant rejection of the queen’s advances could touch off a diplomatic firestorm that would hinder the New Republic’s already shaky stance in this sector. It was too great a risk to make the offer palatable, especially because Han was confident that Leia would arrive soon and sort everything out without offending anyone; she was pretty good at that kind of thing.

“I don’t object to leaving,” he said at length, straightening up in his seat and trying to choose his words with care as he met Rellius’ gaze. “I don’t like being cooped up here any more than you like me _being_ here. But it was made pretty clear to me that Calissa is only gonna settle this with Leia, and not with anyone else. One thing I know about your queen is that she’s one stubborn lady. She ain’t gonna—.”

“I have dedicated my life to that woman,” Rellius interjected, his tone conveying indisputable conviction. “I’ve given her four healthy sons, any one of whom would have been my legitimate heir under the previous system of government.”

Han scowled, and while Rellius’ blatant reference to life under Imperial rule raised a scathing tirade of comments to his lips, he held his tongue. “Sounds to me like you think you and your kids have a right to the throne, no matter what.”

Rellius cocked his head, meeting Han’s curious gaze with an oily smile. “Of course. And I would think it natural for you to be sympathetic to my perspective, as your own homeworld is traditionally a patriarchy, is it not? After all, you were easily enough swayed into Palpatine’s government—.”

“Careful,” Han interrupted with an edge to his voice. Leaning forward, Han planted his feet and rested his elbows on his knees as he fixed the younger man with a direct gaze. This kind of talk was largely out of Han’s territory, but he couldn’t sit by and let Rellius’ comments go unchallenged. He’d lived with Leia Organa for more than twenty-five years and had absorbed enough of her judicious sense of diplomacy to feel reasonably confident about engaging in conversation on such delicate topics, even if he wished heartily that she were here to do it instead.

“Listen, buddy,” he said. “You may be under the impression that things were just fine and ran smoothly under Imperial rule, but all of those worlds—including yours here, and the one I grew up on— _suffered_ under the Empire. They weren’t perfect before and, hell, many are not all that good after, either. But there’s no more purges, no more checkpoints or random searches, no resource pilfering, tariffs, or embargoes, no slave trade, and best of all no threat of orbital bombardment. That, to me, seems like a fair trade for your world floundering their own way into stable government. The New Republic is willing to let its members have the room to do that.”

“By blatant discrimination on the basis of gender?”

“Look, the ‘previous government’ had its own discrimination against females and all non-humans, and the more obviously different humanoids, too,” he said. “Seems to me the pendulum’s just swinging the other way. I know it ain’t necessarily fair, but….” He groped around for the proper words, trying to think of what Leia would say in a similar situation. “These things take time.”

Rellius tipped the rest of the drink down his throat, and then leaned forward to plunk down the glass—a little too harshly—onto the table. “The pendulum has had _plenty_ of time to swing back,” he growled. Rising to his feet, he reached into the folds of his robe, withdrew an archaic iron key and tossed it onto the table, where it landed with a metallic _thunk_. “You’ll need this.”

Han rolled his eyes.

“Make it look good with the guards,” Rellius continued. “Kill one or two if you have to—.”

“Now hold on. I ain’t killin’ nobody,” Han snapped, shooting the other man a hot glare. “And I ain’t that worried about pissing off _your_ wife, but I sure as hell ain’t gonna piss off _mine_.” He drew a deep breath to settle himself, and then met Rellius’ intense stare once more. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not going to try to escape. Like I said, I’m gonna wait and let Leia sort this out with the queen.”

“Calissa intends to set me aside,” Rellius sneered, glaring down his nose at Han. “She fears her time is running out, and she is unwilling to continue to gamble, even though the odds of producing a daughter could very well swing in our favor the next time. But she has set her sights on you, believing you will be able to give her the daughter she craves, a girl to inherit her throne.”

“What’s wrong with gender selection?” Han replied testily, trying to keep a lid on his impatience over the Areti queen’s ridiculous and unnecessary predicament. “Why not send for one of the Core-world genetic specialists, or the guys on Kamino that can give you a kid made-to-order, with all the bells and whistles? With a little science on your side, you could’ve had four _girls_ instead of boys, if she wanted ‘em so bad.”

Rellius seemed to make a strong effort to control his expression, though he could not suppress a tiny moue of distaste. “Yes, yes, to an offworlder that would seem to be the most _sensible_ course of action. However, such practices are an egregious affront to our traditions, and I’m afraid my wife is deeply superstitious about such things. And all engineering aside, I would have thought that finding a surrogate from among Areto’s many pure and noble bloodlines would have been a much easier course to take.” He drew a deep breath and exhaled it on a sigh. “But _no_. For reasons I have yet to comprehend, Calissa has chosen _you_ , Captain. She wants a ‘natural’ daughter— _your_ natural daughter—and I have lived with her long enough to know that there’s little anyone can do to dissuade her once she has decided—”

“Well, too bad for her,” Han interrupted, sitting back in his chair with a short huff of exasperation. “Every grey hair I’ve got, I owe to my kids. I ain’t even sure my sanity’s gonna last long enough to see the youngest one grown. I love ‘em more than I love my own life, but the last thing I want is _more_.” Han gave a short, mirthless laugh. “And anyway, I’m kind of attached to my wife, too, and I don’t plan on divorcing her—not for credits or for power or for any other reason. Your queen’ll just have to get over it.”

“You do not understand my wife. She will not, as you say, ‘get over it’,” Rellius’ tone was tense. “If your mate refuses to relinquish you in accordance with our customs, for fair recompense, then Calissa shall simply _take_ you and risk the ire of the New Republic _and_ your wife. But that is beside the point: we cannot allow the matter to progress to that point.”

Han opened his mouth to speak but Rellius held up an imperious hand and continued. “My wife is a very proud woman, Captain. If you were to escape before she secures you and sets me aside publicly, she would not be able to pursue you without risking great embarrassment to herself, which she would never do. If it became known that she had attempted to make you her consort and you had refused, she would be viewed as undesirable and—even worse—powerless to keep even a simple man such as yourself in thrall. On the other hand, if you were to disappear before the deed is done, the worst result would be the severing of ties with your Republic and perhaps the loss of a few trade routes for Areto.” Rellius paced across the room to stare out the window, his voice gradually lowering until he was almost speaking to himself. “She won’t try again with anyone else, not immediately, and that will buy me the time I need.”

“The time you need…?” Han didn’t like the sound of _that_ , though he couldn’t have said exactly why. He felt his hackles rise as if in response to some threat, and found himself sitting forward in his chair once more, hands resting lightly on his knees, ready for anything.

Rellius whirled around, his robe fanning out around his ankles as he moved. Han flexed his fingers, unobtrusively testing the release for the holdout blaster strapped to his forearm, and then leaned back into the curve of the chair, feigning relaxation. He kept his eyes trained on Rellius as the man began to pace around the seating area in front of the hearth. Abruptly, the Areti royal advanced towards Han and halted within a meter of his position, glaring down at him with what looked like cold rage in the depths of his frosty blue eyes.

“If you know what’s good for you, Captain, you’ll use that key, and you will leave this system tonight,” Rellius warned darkly, enunciating his words in a slow, precise, and chilling tone. “And never send another envoy to this planet.”

Han had spent enough time within the confines of the castle walls to recognize that, of all the perils it might contain, the most dangerous threat of all was standing right in front of him. Rellius was, Han reckoned, an adversary to be avoided—smart enough to marshal his rank and his considerable resources to achieve his goals, but too narrow and myopic in his focus to know when to back off and reconsider his strategy when confronted with a wild card, like his wife’s appropriation of a new mate. That combination made him dangerous, Han decided.

Still, it seemed unlikely that the consort posed any immediate physical threat to Han’s life and, anyway, Leia was probably already on her way. Settling his shoulders firmly against the back of the chair, Han crossed his booted feet at the ankles and laced his fingers together across his chest once more.

“Like I said, I ain’t goin’ _anywhere,”_ he announced in his best laid-back Corellian drawl. Leveling his steepled index fingers at Rellius, he added, “not until the ladies have figured this out between ‘em. I agreed to play by the official rulebook of diplomatic protocol before I ever came to this planet, and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do. What you do about your domestic situation after I’m gone is entirely up to you.” He made his position clear with a firm shake of his head. “Sorry, pal. You can keep your key.”

Watching a muscle twitch in Rellius’ jaw as he clenched his teeth, Han surmised that this was a man who was accustomed to getting his own way, and that it irked him that his plan wasn’t unfolding quite as smoothly as he had hoped _._ Rellius issued a small grunt, nodded sharply, and then leaned down to snatch the key off the table.

“As you wish.”

He turned on his heel and headed toward the door, his robes swishing around his legs and his heels clicking on the rough stone floor. He gave two quick raps on the door, barked a succinct order in Areti, and then turned his gaze back to Han and fixed him with a menacing look.

“I will be _very_ glad to see you gone from this place, Captain Solo,” he said, his voice low, sibilant, and unmistakably threatening. “By whatever means that might entail.”

Han heard the tumblers rotate noisily in the lock and then the door swung open, admitting a rush of noticeably cooler air from the hallway beyond. He watched Rellius pass through the vaulted arch, and then the heavy slab was pulled shut by the hand of an unseen guard, sealing the gap with an ominous thud. From beyond the closed door, Han could hear the Areti royal snarling at the staff, issuing orders as his voice and the sounds of his footfalls faded away into the distance. Finally, there was a grinding heavy click, followed by the faint thunk of the tumblers, and the scrape of a key in the ancient lock.

And just like that, Han was a prisoner again.

He heaved a sigh and scrubbed a hand across his face before climbing wearily to his feet and ambling over to the window. Leaning against the jamb, he watched the birds as they continued their diving and circling, mocking him with their free and unfettered motion. Frustrated, Han gave the wall beneath the window an idle kick as he huffed and grumbled under his breath about the sheer absurdity of his predicament. Chewie was never gonna let him live this down—that was a certainty—but Han would gladly endure his friend’s good-natured ribbing as long as the furball hurried back with Leia. All of his hopes for a quick resolution rested on the supposition that Chewie had departed immediately for Dubrillion and that he would soon return to Areto with Leia in tow.

Over the years, Han had developed a deep respect and admiration for his wife’s deft touch with beings from all walks of life. He’d seen her perform near-miracles with mere words, and her ability to calm hostile individuals, reconcile warring factions, and guide whole governments into action never ceased to amaze him. He was certain she could handle a lone, haughty monarch like Calissa without breaking a sweat. She would work her diplomatic magic and have him extricated from his ridiculous situation in no time. But his feelings of frustration stemmed from more than just simple impatience to be free of his confinement; with every passing hour, the feelings of disquiet brought about by the forced separation from his three youngest daughters intensified. He knew they were in good hands with Chewie, but he couldn’t quell the anxious feeling that _he_ should be with them, watching over them and keeping them safe as he’d done all their lives—instead of being locked up like some kind of pedigree pet ignominiously awaiting the command of his mistress.

Thoughts of his daughters brought a familiar pang to his gut, a hollow sensation he’d been forced to become accustomed to shortly after their firstborn, Breha, was born and the demands of his military career with the New Republic caused the first necessary separation from his wife and child. He’d realized then, with a sense of amazement and more than a twinge of dismay, that a piece of his heart now resided in his infant daughter—forever apart from him, but forever connected. That magnificent, delightful, and utterly terrifying shock had been repeated with the birth of every child thereafter, each infant girl bearing those esoteric elements of himself rooted within them; elements that they carried in their hearts and which formed a deep and lasting bond, no matter how far apart they might find themselves. Over the years, he’d learned to tolerate the uneasy ache he felt whenever they were out of his sight and reach, but he would never learn to enjoy those separations. The simple fact was, Han missed his girls— _all_ of them, Leia included.

 _Five daughters._ Han scrubbed a hand across the angle of his stubbled jaw, unable to suppress the proud grin that stretched across his face whenever he thought about them. He’d long ago stopped wondering what he’d done to deserve the abundance of joy his girls had brought into his life; now, he just tried to appreciate it. Sure, as he’d said to Rellius, they drove him insane on a regular basis but, even allowing for his own heavy bias, he thought they were all truly extraordinary and wonderful people and he was sometimes still amazed that he’d had anything to do with creating them. Each girl possessed her own distinct personality, talents and predilections, but each was also the living embodiment of his love for Leia, and hers for him. When the girls were small, he’d been asked many times if they were going to keep trying until they had a son by the natural means or—failing that—if they planned to arrange to have one gender-selected for them. But Han had never felt the slightest yearning for anything other than the kids he and Leia had created between them. From debating the subtleties of the Force with his eldest, to tinkering on the inner workings of the _Falcon_ with the youngest—and everything in between—his daughters were perfect and utterly precious, and everything he would ever need.

Thoughts of his kids reminded him that his second-born daughter was competing in a crucial qualifying round on Telos. Turning away from the window, he shifted his gaze to the admirably large holovision that hung over the mantle of the stone fireplace. Swoop racing was hugely popular even in this remote sector, so there was a strong chance that even a backwater planet like Areto would offer coverage of such a major event. He ventured over to the liquor cabinet, removed the decanter that held the last few coveted drops of Whyren’s Reserve, and emptied the remainder of the bottle into a fresh tumbler. He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, sighing with pleasure at the satisfying burn of the fine spirit as it warmed his throat.

With the hope of catching up on Tal’s standings in the division, Han took his whiskey and doubled back to the bedside table to retrieve the holo’s sleek, cylindrical chrome controller. As he made his way back to the fireside, he pointed it at the screen and flicked through the channel streams, finally hitting upon the racing circuit coverage that he’d been hoping to find. Settling down into the same chair he’d occupied earlier, his eyes eagerly tracked the feed that scrolled across the bottom of the screen. It relayed the current division leaders and the results of key races, while the background holo-display showed replays of the best moments from the day’s events. Propping his booted heels on the table, Han settled himself against the cushions, took another tiny sip of the precious Whyren’s, and listened to the animated voice of the narrator as he gave his play-by-play.

_“—and the converted Mos Espa track has produced another champion. After a dismal season opener, Barh Ingen has claimed—”_

_Blast; wrong division._ Han quickly changed the channel.

_“ —in the qualifiers last year. Let’s cut to the western cam; Solo is pouring it on! She’s taking—”_

Han’s heart gave a little jolt. Though blurred by their incredible velocity, Han could still pick out the familiar coloring of his daughter’s customized bike from among the surrounding competitors.  

 _“—an you believe that gutsy maneuver? Look at this. Look at this! Solo blows by Tepy in a wide line around turn eight, taking in two—no, make that_ three _of four boost p—”_

Han sat upright and shifted to the edge of his seat. Depositing the tumbler on the table in front of him, he braced his elbows on his knees and focused his full attention on the display. He fiddled with the chrome holo-controller to zoom in, filling the screen with shaky and rapidly changing images as the cameras fought to keep up with the breakneck speed of the swoop bikes as they thundered past the commentators’ stand.

_“—Solo is passing Levoss like she’s on fire! He’s really going to have to work to catch her on that duracarbon beast of a Mobquet she’s got. Oh, OH! Looks like Solo might have tagged Levoss on the way by!”_

_“Arkson, did you see that? Was that a rude gesture?”_

_“Sure looked like it to me, Jago. I’m surprised the profanity filter didn’t pick_ that _one up. A stunt like that would earn her a two-week jail term on Bonadan, I think. But just look at that speed! She’s got to be coming up at damned near sublight through the stalactite maze, and—”_

 _“Hah!”_ Han shouted, punching the air with his fist. His melancholy dispelled, he kept his eyes locked on the screen, beaming with pride and utterly engrossed in the race coverage. He found himself chanting words of encouragement and cursing under his breath, when he wasn’t holding it in tense anticipation. On the final quarter kilometer, as Tal kicked off an outcrop obstacle in the canyon sector to complete the apex of a hairpin turn, Han inhaled sharply, and clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his boisterous sounds of enthusiasm.

In near-record time, Tal’s swoop blasted across the finish line, leaving her closest rival far behind and flying half-blind in the cloud of dust she left in her wake. Han erupted from his seat, whooping a celebratory cry, and then watched with satisfaction as his daughter completed an abbreviated victory lap. He then resumed his seated position to note the overall results, swelling with renewed pride when he saw the up-to-date standings. As if there was any doubt, the official tally was evidence that Tal was nothing short of amazing on that bike, and Han was immensely pleased to know that he had, in some small way, been a part of that success. He and Tal had toiled for long hours together, fine-tuning and modifying the highly customized piece of equipment, transforming it from a simple, standard swoop bike into the efficient, supercharged machine it had become. The memory filled him with happiness, and brought back a little bit of that damned ache at the same time.

Tal had more than a touch of Han’s old wanderlust in her, and she’d been itching to get away from the confines of family life and parental supervision for a while now. She and Leia had locked horns over her rejection of a place at Coruscant University, and Tal’s subsequent decision to join the racing circuit had nearly sent her mother’s temper into the stratosphere, forcing Han to intervene and work _his_ particular kind of magic on Leia. In the end, the princess had reluctantly conceded that their second daughter needed a little space and some time alone to do her own thing. _She’ll be fine_ , Han had soothed his wife. _She’s our kid. She’ll be more than fine; she’ll be fantastic._

As the excited pounding of his heart began to slow and the narration looped back to the beginning of the day’s heats, Han reflected on the truth of that assertion. Tal was doing great, and he was immensely proud of her—not only for her success on the racing circuit, but for her dedication to hard work, her tenacity and her fierce determination to make her own way in the galaxy. _She’s our kid alright_ , he thought with a smile.

Settling back in his seat, Han flipped over to the general Galactic news channels. Passing by a political gossip channel, he caught sight of another member of his family—Leia in the midst of an interview that had evidently been recorded upon her arrival on Dubrillion—and felt his smile widen. She was elegantly dressed and her chestnut hair was arranged in a sophisticated upswept style with two thick braided loops dangling at the back, and the dainty little sun-pearl earrings he’d given her on their first wedding anniversary adorning her ears. He sighed; she was a sight for sore eyes. Narrowing his concentration to block out everything else on the screen, he concentrated on the sound of her voice, while ignoring the barrage of obtuse queries from the interviewer. There was no finer sound in all of the galaxy to assuage his restlessness and uplift his flagging spirit than those measured, rich tones, no matter what she was talking about. As it happened, she was discussing the vagaries of Dubrillion’s complex political processes and the delicate negotiations that would lead, she hoped, to the planet someday fully joining the New Republic—essentially, the same sort of thing she’d been talking about for twenty-odd years, in various contexts. But the topic itself didn’t matter. Han was focused on _her,_ as hungry for the sight and sound of his wife as he’d always been, despite their many long years of marriage and the relatively brief period of their present separation. He’d long ago given up trying to hide the truth from himself—he was a sucker for Leia Organa and always would be. Watching the regal tilt of her head when she was addressed by name, and the way her lips curved into a smile as her eyes crinkled up in polite amusement at some comment from the interviewer, the damned ache in Han’s chest came surging back with a vengeance.

 _Hurry, Leia_ , Han thought, trying to project his entreaty into the ether somehow, hoping she would use her finely tuned Force abilities to check in on his safety and state of mind, as she freely admitted she often did when they were apart. Though he had no sensitivity to the Force himself, Han couldn’t help trying to reach out to her anyway, groping around blindly in search of that mysterious connection.

_Hurry up, Sweetheart. I need you._


	7. Rellius

 

So _this_ was how it was all going to end, after nearly two decades of marriage. _Pathetic._

Stalking down the tower stairs away from the prisoner’s palatial bedchamber, Amadi Rellius chewed at his lip and fumed, lost in his own dark thoughts.

As much as he deplored his own alleged shortcomings in the marital bed, he was even more consumed by bitter resentment of the off-worlder who stood poised to take his place—not only for his own sake, but for the sake of his children and the legacy of his family. Calissa’s enactment of the ancient and obscure edict would ensure that the current ruling house would retain its power, but it would also result in Rellius and his sons being banished to the footnotes of Areto’s history. Despite all of his years of loyalty and fidelity, it seemed that his failure to produce a female heir was an offense too grave to be forgiven, and the throne would pass eventually to the first daughter of the union between Calissa and this... _Corellian_. The very thought of such genetic pollution of the pure Areti line made Rellius shudder and curl his lip in revulsion.

_No matter,_ he decided, shaking off the unwanted thoughts as he exited the tower. With a curt nod to the guards posted in the anteroom, he turned and strode along the limestone passageway leading away from the tower, still preoccupied with his bitter ruminations. There was more than one way to skin a _vrelt_ , after all, and Calissa wasn’t going to like her husband’s counter-move one bit. The Corellian would like it even less, Rellius reckoned, but the so-called “hero” had been given his chance; he should have taken the opportunity to leave when it was offered instead of meekly deferring to his wife. Now things were going to go badly for him. Very badly indeed.

The consort’s keen eyes scanned the corridor as he ventured through, noting several side passages branching off of the main hall. Perhaps one of them offered a shorter route to the central area of the palace, but he couldn’t be sure; this wing of the castle was seldom used and was therefore less familiar to him than the rest of the grounds. Rounding the next darkened corner, though, he stopped short and gaped at a very familiar sight. Adorning the rough-hewn stone wall just ahead was a two-meter high tapestry displaying an image of the queen as a young maiden. Calissa had clearly been on the cusp of womanhood at the time the lavish textile was fashioned, and her beauty in the days of her youth had been captured with true artistic precision in the richly colored and finely woven brocade. She was depicted gazing out of one of the palace’s many arched windows that overlooked the courtyard below, and she clutched a single, perfect Areti rose in the delicately laced fingers she held against her small bosom. Her expression was rapturous, as if beguiled by some distant vision, or adrift in her own ethereal dreams.

Rellius remembered that look; he had seen it on her face many times in the early years of their marriage, when they were both young and happy, long before fate had intervened and denied them the daughter that they had so desperately wanted. But he hadn’t seen that beatific expression—nor this prized piece of art—in a very long time. He recalled the tapestry having once been on display in one of the day-rooms in the queen’s private suite, though it had been years since he had last been summoned into that inner sanctum. Thinking back to the tower chamber where the Corellian had been ensconced, Rellius realized that the chair in which Solo had so casually lounged had once graced his own bedroom in the east wing; and the large, ornate wardrobe that lined the wall of Solo’s temporary keep had belonged to Rellius as well.

None of those luxurious appointments should have come as any great surprise, Rellius acknowledged. It had been impossible to overlook the increased activity around the palace over the course of the last several months, although he hadn’t understood the reasons for it at the time. Substantial and valuable pieces of furniture as well as admired works of art had been shuffled around, and now Rellius finally grasped what had been going on right under his nose: Calissa had been feathering a gilded nest; putting together an opulent cage in which to keep her new pet until such time as he produced the heir she required.

The fact that the queen had taken such care in her preparations to attend to the off-worlder’s comfort and pleasure told Rellius that she planned not only to secure a child from him, but to keep him content enough in his captivity that he would not only accept it but embrace it, fully submitting to the will of his mistress, as the men of old Areto had long been accustomed to do. Being targeted by a wealthy and powerful woman of high status was no hardship to the average Areti male; indeed, those who attracted such interest were widely envied and often congratulated on their good luck. To be summarily requisitioned by the queen herself was the stuff of _dreams_ , the highest honor imaginable for a nobleman of Areto.

But Solo wasn’t a nobleman, Rellius reminded himself. He wasn’t even Areti at all, which was why the queen’s decree was especially galling. The Corellian had been awarded an honour that placed him in a position above not only the noblemen of the planet, but even superior to Rellius’ own position as current Royal Consort and Lord of the Realm. The off-worlder was about to be publicly identified as Calissa’s _chosen one_ , hand-picked from among all of the planets in the known sectors to produce the heir that would spare the ruling royal house from dissolution. In the eyes of the Areti people, this stranger would become a saviour, and Amadi Rellius—a scion of one of Areto’s oldest and noblest families—would become a sad disgrace.

Rellius stood in the corridor, hands on hips, with his gaze focused on the deeply-hued fabric in front of him as he silently fumed. The grim reality of his impending deposition was made even more glaring by the presence of these familiar objects—treasured articles that had once belonged to _him_ —relocated here for the singular purpose of pleasing and appeasing the man who stood poised to take his place.

He ground his teeth together in annoyance, deeply vexed by the Corellian’s rejection of his benevolent offer to allow him to slip away in the night; it would have been by far the cleanest and most expedient way of resolving the situation. Still, he’d half-expected such a churlish response, and now it was time to set his alternate plan in motion.

Casting one more scornful glance at the likeness of his wife, Rellius turned and continued on down the corridor that led to the palace’s central hall. The opportunity for a peaceful solution may have come and gone, but Rellius knew that there was more than _one_ way to make a man disappear.


	8. Serren

“Dad is well and truly _stuck_ ,” Kai scowled. “You heard what Mom said to Uncle Chewie; she’s probably gonna need another day or two on Dubrillion before she can even leave!”

“We could try to get in touch with Uncle Luke and Breha,” Brin muttered. She was sitting cross-legged atop the spare crew bunk, closely examining a bundle of loose wires in a squat, oblong metal casing. She hefted her miniature soldering iron in one hand and gave a little shrug. “Maybe they could get here faster?”

Kai gave her a withering look. “They’re in the Gordian Reach, Laserbrain.”

“So?”

“So, that’s practically the other side of the galaxy.”

“Oh.” Brin turned her attention back to the wires in her case.

Serren sighed. “Anyway, they’re training right now, remember? We’ll be in deep trouble if we disturb them, unless it’s for a good reason.”

“And dad being held prisoner isn’t a good reason?” Kai retorted, but then she waved her hand in dismissal as Serren opened her mouth to reply. “Never mind. We don’t need to bother them at all; the three of us can handle it.”

There was a long moment during which Brin stopped soldering and then slowly raised her head, allowing her gaze to roam from Serren to Kai and then back again. She widened her blue eyes exaggeratedly at Serren, as if in fear for her life, and then shook her russet head from side to side, mouthing the words _no, stop her,_ and _are you crazy?_

“Handle _what_?” Serren asked her twin warily, trying not to laugh at Brin’s pantomime. “I hope you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

“Why not? Why should Dad have to sit in a stinky old dungeon for days, when we could have him out by midnight? Save Mom a lot of time and work, too. She’ll be thrilled.”

“ _Thrilled_?” Serren gave her twin a baleful look. “You can’t be serious, Kai. Even if we manage to get into the castle and find him—and get him out—Mom is not going to be ‘thrilled’. And what if we get caught? Have you thought about _that_?”

“We’re not gonna get caught.”

“But what if we _do_? She’ll be pissed off that we ignored her instructions and got involved. You _know_ she will.”

“Tut-tut, _laaanguage_ ,” Brin admonished, grinning like a Gungan as she set aside her soldering project and jumped down from her perch. Planting herself squarely in front of her blonde sister, she extended an open palm and crowed, “Pay up, potty-mouth.”

Serren turned a glare on her younger sister and narrowed her eyes. “I did _not_ agree to any fine for swearing. That was Kai.”

Kai choked. “Like hell it was.”

“Like hell it _wasn’t_. You seem to forget, Kai, you’re the one who thought it was such a good idea to—”

_[*Good to see you three are putting your lessons in proper Basic to good use.*]_

The disagreement came to a screeching halt as three sets of wide eyes turned to see Chewbacca’s large bulk filling the circular door frame that that led from the port side ring corridor. The Wookiee’s azure gaze traveled from one girl to the next, and then he shook his shaggy head, releasing a low growl that made it clear that he had neither the time nor the patience to deal with such petty bickering.

 _[*I have spoken to your mother once more,*]_ he informed them solemnly as he lumbered into the lounge and stood for a moment, surveying the scene. _[*She has managed to make arrangements to conclude her business there ahead of schedule; our departure from Areto has been confirmed for tomorrow evening.*]_

“Tomorrow?” Kai groaned. “But by then we’ll have been sitting here for an entire day! And it takes another whole day just to get to Dubrillion and back. That means two more days that Dad will be stuck in that place.”

 _[*Well done, cub,*]_ Chewie said, the corner of his lip peeling back in the Wookiee equivalent of a wry grin. _[*You have finally become adept at both Basic and arithmetic. Your mother will be proud.*]_

Kai scowled, crossing her arms over her chest and adopting a pouting stance.

“Chewie,” Serren ventured, slanting a glance at her sister. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Kai silently mimicking her mannerisms, but she opted not to engage her sister by calling attention to her juvenile antics.

_[*Yes, cub. Help your sisters to find something productive to occupy their time. I have work to do in order to ready the ship for lift, and it would be beneficial if I were not interrupted.*]_

The giant Wookiee crossed through the lounge, slipping past the girls and heading down the ring corridor that led to the cockpit. Serren listened to Chewie’s heavy footsteps that reverberated along the length of the deck plates as he retreated, and they all heard the muted hiss of the cockpit door sliding shut.

The instant Chewbacca was out of sight, Kai was in motion once more.

“You see?” she hissed, darting close to her twin and doing her best to keep her voice low and restrained. “He’s going to be busy with the ship for _hours_. We can be in and out of the castle, and back here with Dad before he even knows we’re gone.” 

“He’s going to notice if we suddenly disappear, Kai,” Serren responded in a tense whisper. “And besides, you know how paranoid they all are about us being kidnapped or something, especially after that last attempt. We’d be in a lot of trouble from Dad, too, if he finds out that we just took off without telling Chewie.”

“Fine. We’ll tell him we’re...uh...heading down to the village! Yeah! We’re gonna get something for dinner, or visit some of the school kids who were poking around here earlier. It’ll be easy. He’ll be glad to get us out from underfoot for a while.” When Serren didn’t immediately respond, Kai cast a glance over the back of the acceleration couch in the direction of the cockpit, and dropped her voice another octave. “Listen, Ser, if you don’t want to help, that’s fine. Brin and I will do it ourselves. Just...don’t get in the way, okay? And don’t rat us out.”

Serren raised an incredulous eyebrow at her sister. “Are you nuts? You think I’m going to let you drag Brin off on one of your _kush_ -brained schemes _alone_? She’s just a kid!” She angled towards Brin, who had settled herself on the couch and resumed working on the same oblong metallic contraption she had been fiddling with earlier, now holding her macrofuser in one hand and wearing a look of intense concentration.

“Brin, what are you doing?” Serren asked. “What _is_ that thing?”

Cradling the rounded object between her knees, Brin held up one finger to silence her sister as she finished tracing the macrofuser across the final seam on the metal housing. Then, with a shrug, she set the tool on the cushion beside her and held the object aloft, neatly balanced on her palm. “What does it look like?” she inquired, talking around the hard-boiled sweet she was rolling around in her mouth.  

Serren gaped, and then shot her twin a hot glare. She was no munitions expert, but she had been around Chewbacca and her father long enough to recognize a stun grenade when she saw one. Dumbfounded, she turned back to her twin and asked, “Do you see this, Kai? Do you _see_ what you’ve started?”

“What? I just happened to mention we might need a few distractions….”

“She’s making a grenade, Kai. _A grenade!”_ Serren blew out a heavy breath, pressing the heels of her hands against her temples to ward off the headache that was just beginning to throb there, which was almost certainly about to get a lot worse. She should have known that Brin was already in on the plan; sometimes the younger girl was more like the twin to Kai than Serren herself.

“If we’re going to do this,” she said at length with an air of resignation, “we’re going to have to do it _quietly_.”

Brin shifted the sweet from one cheek to the other, and then gave another little shrug. “Well, for a grenade, it _is_ pretty quiet,” she said, beaming a bright smile. “When do we leave?”


	9. Han

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Zyra. :)

Queen Calissa was undoubtedly beautiful.

Han had seen her before, of course, when he’d been summoned from the Great Hall into her presence to be informed by the Lady Trevain that while he was still considered an honoured guest of the Areti royal house, their “hospitality” would thereafter be proffered under lock and key. The chamberlain had made the royal pronouncements on Calissa’s behalf—the queen herself hadn’t uttered a single word. Instead, she’d deigned only to direct a disdainful glance at Chewie when he started snorting with laughter over her proposed acquisition of Han as her new consort. The two old friends had then been ushered from the Great Hall and separated, and Han hadn’t seen the queen since.

It was no surprise then that, shortly after his strained encounter with Rellius came to its abrupt end, Han was informed that the queen had requested a private audience in order to discuss the details of his preferment to his new position as royal consort. What _was_ surprising—and more than a little disconcerting—were the directives that had been passed down in advance of their meeting. In the hour before his presentation to the queen, he was visited by a member of the Royal Guard who delivered orders from the Lady Chamberlain that he should bathe and groom himself, and then dress in his choice of clothing from among the selection at his disposal in the chamber’s wardrobe, before being escorted to the monarch’s private rooms.

Han’s first instinct was to tell the guard where he could stick his instructions. His senses were tingling with that _bad feeling_ he so often got—the one that put his whole body on high alert and which had saved his life more than once—and he’d never been much inclined to follow orders anyway. He briefly considered refusing to yield to the queen’s will, but the lingering presence of the guard who stood nearby, forcepike in hand, made him reconsider his options. The other bridle on his actions was the fact that he was supposed to be acting as an envoy of the New Republic, and the Leia-like voice in his head continued to caution him that any deviation from diplomatic protocol could have disastrous consequences for their fledgling progress in this sector. So Han did as he was told, albeit with a token show of reluctance.

Once the guard seemed satisfied that his less-than-eager charge was sufficiently presentable, Han was ushered from his suite and taken on a journey down the tower steps and through the winding, windowless passages that led from his chamber to the brightly lit corridors of the castle proper. Slipping through a side corridor, they entered into the echoing expanse of the castle’s grand foyer. The concourse was abuzz with noisy activity, with guards and servants weaving this way and that, attending to the demands of keeping such a large household running smoothly. The walls here were adorned with faded tapestries and works of art that chronicled Areto’s history from ancient times; the type of thing that Leia would have gone out of her way to stop and admire had she been invited as part of a royal tour. Han was reminded again of just how much he missed her, and offered up another fervent wish that she would arrive soon, do her thing, and get him out of this mess.

After winding through another series of side passages that led from the grand foyer and down a long, heavily guarded corridor, they finally came to a halt in front of a massive gilded door. The two armed guards flanking the entrance then reached to pull the heavy doors wide, and Han’s escort gestured for him to enter. For form’s sake, Han shot a glare at the expressionless young man, but then he did as he was instructed and stepped forward into a bedroom of palatial opulence the likes of which he’d never seen.

Roughly square, the room was immensely proportioned, with high, arched ceilings and three large windows that let in an abundance of natural light, enough to lend the room a bright and airy feel. Decorated entirely in tones of cream and crimson, and trimmed in shimmering gold, the room was ostensibly divided in two: on one side there was a sitting area set apart by ornate marble pillars, behind which was a large settee and a pair of plush wingback chairs that flanked a low, gilded iron table. On the other side was an impossibly large canopy bed crafted from dark wood, intricately carved and draped in lush fabrics in the same rich hues.

Standing in the expanse of gleaming marble between the two features, with her shapely back turned to the door, was Queen Calissa herself. She was standing before the center window and seemed to be gazing down at the courtyard below.

The guard that had entered behind Han stepped to the fore, planted himself in a wide, stiff-backed stance and then cleared his throat. “General Solo is here, Your Majesty, as commanded,” he intoned.

Calissa turned, and Han watched as her grey eyes travelled over his form before they flicked across to the guard with an air of dismissal.

“Leave us,” she said.

Her voice was rich and smooth—she was regal, Han thought, in every sense of the word. The guard bent forward in a deep bow, and then straightened and reversed a few steps before turning on his heel and making his exit. His comrades pulled the massive doors shut, leaving Han alone with the queen.

She eyed him for a moment and then advanced in his direction. As she moved toward him with a graceful and confident stride, Han couldn’t help but notice again how beautiful she was—although _handsome_ , he decided, was perhaps the better word. She was tall and slender, but shapely. Dressed in a richly ornamented and expertly tailored formal gown that rustled richly as she walked, she was adorned with glittering jewels at ears, throat, wrist and hand, and her hair was arranged in an elegant upswept style, presenting a striking figure. Her skin, tinted with a healthy glow, appeared perfectly smooth, and her light grey eyes were clear and bright as she fixed her gaze upon Han once more and offered him a faint, cool smile. She looked much younger than her reported age of thirty-seven, though Han could detect a certain air about her that spoke of some life experience.

“I bid you welcome, General,” Calissa intoned as she glided across the marble floor to where Han stood. Then, with no hesitation or evidence of inhibition whatsoever, she moved in quite close, stopping less than half a metre away and then tilting her head to appraise him with a critical eye. “I’m pleased to see that the images procured for me from the Holonet do you justice. You’re certainly attractive enough to suit my tastes.”

Han felt his eyebrows climb.

“Uh, thanks?” he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty and an acerbic edge he couldn’t quite suppress.

He was momentarily at a loss for the proper response to such an overture. Once upon a time he’d have returned such a bold comment with something conceited, like _you’ve got a good eye, sister_ or maybe something flirtatious, like _just wait ‘til you see the rest of me_. But he’d learned enough over many years of watching Leia in action to know when to keep his mouth shut. There was no point in provoking the Areti woman if he didn’t absolutely have to, so he simply eyed her and waited.

Edging a little more into Han’s personal space, the queen allowed her gaze to slip down between them to get a better look at his body up close, and then upwards again to study his face. She held his gaze with an air of intense scrutiny, her keen eyes piercing enough to make Han feel decidedly uncomfortable. Although he didn’t detect any hint of malice in her cool grey eyes, it was obvious that she was sizing him up for a distinctly carnal purpose. She reached out then and rested both of her hands on Han’s shoulders. He flinched slightly at her touch, but stiffened his back and held his ground, controlling the urge to knock her hands away; he’d endured worse treatment countless times, he reminded himself. At least she didn’t have a weapon on her, as far as he could see. Calissa ran her hands down the length of his arms, briefly encircled his broad wrists with her slender fingers and then took his hands in hers. Lifting them, she turned them over and back again as she continued her inspection, and then released him with a perfunctory nod.  

“Perfect bone structure, beautiful skin, and just the right musculature,” she observed. “Toned, but not overly developed. You have an appealing physique, General, far more so than most men of your age.”

“So my _wife_ tells me all the time,” Han said dryly, drawing out the most important word with considerable emphasis.

But Calissa was focused on her appraisal, and appeared to pay his comment no heed. Holding her head proudly erect, she placed a hand on his shoulder once more and then stepped to the side and began to move around him in a slow circle, trailing her fingers across the muscles of his chest to alight on his opposite shoulder.  

“Oh, yes,” she intoned, as she circled around behind him. “You will do _nicely_.”

Han could feel the weight of her stare pressing on him but—still hearing that Leia-like voice in his head that urged neutrality and patience—he resisted the impulse to shrug her arm from his shoulder and extricate himself from her grasp. Then he clenched his teeth as Calissa’s hand slid down the length of his spine to give his ass a light pat, before taking hold of the muscle with a firm grip, lightly pressing her nails into his flesh through the thin material of the form-fitting trousers that he’d chosen from the limited selection in the wardrobe.

_To hell with diplomacy_ , Han thought rashly, but he gritted his teeth and endured the contact for a moment or two longer, still striving to keep the peace.

The woman’s conduct was truly outrageous. It was just the sort of backwards behaviour that comedians of every species across the galaxy regularly exploited for laughs in the Core, mercilessly mocking the relatively rustic and uninitiated cultures of backwater planets like Areto. Han was seriously beginning to think that starting an intergalactic incident might not be such a bad idea after all. It galled him to submit to such unapologetic groping and he was frankly offended by the woman’s blatant disregard for his own rights or preferences. Maybe, he fumed, this was one of those occasions when _the Han way_ of doing things would actually get better and faster results than _the Leia way_.

As those dangerous thoughts flitted through his head, the queen completed her circuit and stepped around to stand in front of him. As she moved, she trailed her fingers around the muscles of his lower torso, following the line of his hipbone and drifting downward towards his groin with obvious intent. Reflexively, Han blocked her hand and grabbed her by the wrist, piercing her with a hot glare. Then, slowly but firmly, he pushed her hand away.

“ _Enough_ , lady,” he warned darkly. “That is _not_ yours.”

Looking mildly surprised at Han’s emphatic rejection, Calissa withdrew her hand and folded it with the other in front of her, straightening her slim shoulders and lifting her chin in a graceful and regal pose. Regarding him with a small, satisfied smile, she had the proud air of a livestock breeder who had just purchased a prizewinning Nerf.

“No, not mine,” she conceded, “not _yet_. But soon.” She allowed her eyes to drift over him from top to bottom once more. “You are everything I hoped for and more, General,” she said with a tone of certainty. “Handsome, fit, confident and proud. Our offspring will be impressive, indeed, and I believe I shall immensely enjoy the experience of conceiving a daughter from you.”

A bark of incredulous laughter escaped Han’s throat. “You won’t be conceiving or— or _enjoying_ anything, sister,” he said with heated vehemence, forgetting his earlier resolve to remain impassive. “This little scheme of yours ain’t gonna fly.”

Calissa blinked, and Han saw a flash of genuine bewilderment in her eyes. “I don’t understand,” she ventured, somewhat more cautiously than she’d spoken before. “You don’t seem pleased….”

Han gaped at her, realizing that the woman was utterly sincere in her bafflement. Clearly, she’d been operating under the assumption that her appropriation of Han for marriage and mating purposes would be perfectly acceptable to him—indeed, that it would be an honour for which he should be glad and _grateful._ He shook his head in disbelief and negation.

“No, I’m not _pleased_ ,” he snarled, and then heaved a deep sigh and concentrated on softening the harshness of his tone. “And neither is your husband, by the sounds of things.”

Calissa’s eyes darkened, and her features arranged themselves into an expression of frank disapproval. “You’ve spoken to Rellius.”

Han gave a grunt of acknowledgement. “If you can call standing by while he insulted me and acted offended by my existence, then yes, I suppose I have.”

He stopped short of mentioning Rellius’ offer to orchestrate his escape. Despite Han’s personal feelings toward the man, he didn’t wish to be responsible for him coming to any harm. If there were to be repercussions for Rellius’ subterfuge, it wasn’t going to be at Han’s hands.

“Rellius is struggling with my decision. He rejects the ancient ways,” Calissa said. “As the father of my sons, he will never be left without means, of course. He will be well looked after for the rest of his days, and will enjoy an easy and comfortable life. But this... _relegation_ is proving to be somewhat distressing to him.”

Han cocked an eyebrow. “Hate to tell you, lady, but my wife ain’t gonna be too thrilled about it, either.”

“She will be well compensated for her loss and any inconvenience caused,” Calissa said in an imperious tone. Then she set her jaw and tilted her nose in the air. “By all accounts, your mate is a wise and practical woman. I’m certain she’ll be reasonable, once she is presented with my generous terms.”

A soft snort escaped Han at that declaration. “Yeah, well, you don’t know her. Maybe she has thought about throwing me out of an airlock once or twice over the years, but she ain’t gonna sell me off. No matter how generous your terms are.”

Calissa eyed him with a faint, amused smile. “How lovely that you believe yourself to be so highly valued, General. But I assure you, everyone has a price.”

“It’s not about money,” Han explained a little testily, “it’s about this concept you seem to have of _owning_ people and trading ‘em for cash or property. That’s not the kind of thing—”

Han stopped short. He’d been on the verge of saying that the queen’s proposal was _not the kind of thing that happens on civilized worlds_ , but he was suddenly conscious of his own notorious lack of finesse when it came to matters of diplomacy. That was the whole reason behind his decision to acquiesce to his confinement and wait for Leia, he reminded himself. He drew a deep breath and then blew it out in an exasperated huff.

“Never mind,” he said. “Are we done here?”

“Yes, I suppose we are, for now,” Calissa replied, her mild tone implying that Han’s apparent irritation with his present circumstances was an amusing but temporary condition that concerned her very little. “I have dispatched a message to the princess and will await her response. In the meantime, you are my guest. I see no need to limit your movements around the castle and its grounds. You may have free access to roam as you please—supervised by my personal detail, of course—until the negotiations are concluded.”

Being able to stroll around the castle at-will was a tempting proposition; the walk from his chamber to Calissa’s rooms had certainly done Han a world of good in working out the stiffness caused by his inactivity. But as claustrophobic as being detained within the confines of the single-room chamber was making him feel, Han suspected it would be best to remain there. With only one point of entry, the bedroom at least offered some semblance of security; his discussion with Rellius had left him with the distinct feeling that he needed to watch his back. Han crossed his arms over his chest and adopted a casual stance.

“Thanks for the offer, but I kinda like it where you stashed me,” he said, doing his best to make his tone sound upbeat. “It’s nice and _quiet_. Living in a house full of teenage girls, I’ve come to appreciate some time alone whenever I can get it.”

Calissa’s blue eyes brightened at Han’s mention of his daughters and she gave a small smile and a nod of acquiescence. “As you wish,” she said.

Turning away from Han, she gave a clipped command to the guards stationed outside the door, and Han was then led back to his chamber through the hidden, shadowy corridors of the castle to await Leia’s arrival.

 


	10. Serren

With a loud clatter, Kai dropped the heavy wire bin full of scavenged items on the girls’ cabin table and heaved a dramatic sigh. A smattering of screws and bolts bounced out of the gaps in the container and went skipping along the bunkroom decking, rolling in every direction and adding to the general tumult of her arrival.

From her cross-legged position on the floor of the converted hold, Serren opened her eyes and glared.

“Will you keep it _down!_ ” she hissed. “I said _stealth mode_. You’re as loud as a herd of nerfs.”

“Hey, I was quiet enough when it counted,” Kai shrugged. She blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes as she wiped grimy palms down the seams of her trousers, and then beamed a smug smile. “I was in and out without so much as a squeak from the deckplates, and Chewie doesn’t have a clue. So much for super-sensitive Wookiee ears, huh?”

Lithe and strong, Kai was also agile enough to squeeze into tight spaces, but it was her ability to do so without making a sound that made her disturbingly good at clandestine operations. When she and her sisters were small, she had always been the one nominated to slip stealthily into the kitchen after bedtime and come creeping back up to their shared bedroom with the pockets of her robe bulging with contraband. They’d learned the hard way that such furtive activities were much more difficult to hide from their mother than from their father. It wasn’t that Han didn’t _notice,_ but he seemed to take some delight in his daughters’ cunning instincts, and he’d been known to turn a blind eye to minor acts of disobedience. Leia was far more likely to oppose blatant misbehaviour, and her sensitivity to the Force made her a formidable obstacle when it came to sneaking around. Always keenly attuned to the activities of her daughters, she seemed able to sense their mischievous intentions often before they even had time to act on them. Chewbacca, too, seemed to have a preternatural ability to detect impending shenanigans, but he relied wholly on his physical senses and, luckily for them, he was too distracted at the moment to pay close attention to their movements.

Kai looked happy with the results of her mission. Brin had given her a list, marked in her choppy scrawl on a scrap of flimsi, which detailed the items they would need to enact their rescue plan, and the possible shipboard locations for each. Kai had subsequently hunted down every trigger switch, blast module, fusion cap and power pack on the list, along with anything that could remotely be utilized as a component. That was the first stage of their operation: to gather the necessary articles and deliver them to their bunk room so that Brin could assemble the parts into something useful, all without attracting Chewbacca’s attention.   

Kai scanned the room and then looked back at Serren. “Where is she?”

“Working with Chewie on the electromag’ locks for the landing gear,“ Serren replied in a quiet voice that she hoped would temper her sister’s boisterous enthusiasm. _Distracting him_ , she clarified through the Force. Despite Kai’s earlier remarks, Serren was acutely aware that the Wookiee did indeed possess a keen sense of hearing and, after their failed eavesdropping on his comm-call with their mother, it was obvious that they would need to take precautions to stay off his scopes.

“Ah,” Kai nodded and then motioned to the bin and dropped her voice to a whisper. “I got everything on her list, except the magnetic anchors and...” She unfolded a heavily stained and creased flimsi and pointed to an item on the list. “ _That_ thing.”

Serren noted the volatile item with some concern. “I’m not sure we need anything of that caliber. I thought this was going to be a minimal impact operation? Sneaky-sneaky, in-and-out, right? All we need is a distraction or two. Didn’t we agree on that?”

“Yeah, but when have you ever known Brin to stick to the rules?“ Kai replied.

“ _Nobody_ in this blasted family seems to stick to the rules!” Serren exclaimed in frustration. Then, realizing the volume of her outburst, she clamped a hand over her mouth.

Kai snorted a laugh. “Geez, Serren. _Stealth mode_ , remember? ‘ _No unnecessary chatter’,”_ she chortled, happily echoing Serren’s own words back to her.

Firing her twin a hot glare, Serren rubbed at her temples and dismissed the parallel tweak of irritation that Kai sent her way through the Force. Just as she would at home whenever they squabbled, Serren closed her mind to her sister and redirected her attentions to the pair of Force-blind presences working away beneath the _Falcon_ on the temperamental ship's landing gear. She was concentrating hard, honing in on the personalities, when she felt a shock of alarm followed by a flow of frustrated annoyance emanating from Chewbacca’s noble presence, and a swell of triumph underscored with roguish amusement from Brin. She opened her eyes.

“Something tells me she’ll be back here soon,” she sighed at Kai, who was now carefully arranging a handful of detonator caps in a line atop the table. “Then it's _your_ turn to stick with Chewie.”

A few moments later the hatch slid aside and Brin sauntered in, rubbing at her short russet locks with a threadbare towel and looking enormously pleased with herself.

“Hydraulic assembly on the landing gear ruptured _somehow_ ,” she announced with a sly smile. “But, uh, some of it got me, too.” Her expression brightened into one of glee when she caught sight of the heap of items that Kai had recovered. “You got the detonators!” she crowed, hastily blotting her hair dry and then carelessly discarding the towel to one side. “Great. This stuff will be _aces_ for a distraction!”

“ _Shhhhh!_ ” Serren hissed.

Brin pulled a sour face. “You should be thanking me, not shushing me, boss. I took one for the team. Chewie got the worst of it, though,” she said smugly. “Oh man, he has the best swears in the galaxy. He’s in the fresher right now and I think he’ll be a while.”

Serren unfolded her long limbs and rose to her feet as the youngest Solo turned to her work bench and began the task of sorting through Kai’s collection of found objects. Brin removed each item from the bin and placed it on the bench, and then emptied her bulging pockets of a few misappropriated treasures of her own and added them to the pile.

“Now be _quiet_ ,” Brin instructed her sisters sternly, before turning her attention to her work. “I need to concentrate.” Soon absorbed by the task at hand, her lips began to move, murmuring to herself as she matched each item from the bin with its counterpart from her mental list and stacked them into a semblance of order, grouping them by category and purpose.

A few minutes later, with the items organized into piles, Brin set to work dismantling some of the larger articles into component parts. Serren watched, intrigued by the way her sister’s deft fingers separated the weaves of wires and micro circuit-boards and, in the short time that a skilled soldier could have disassembled a blast rifle, Brin had all of the objects gutted and the needed elements laid out neatly on her bench.

“Analog switch with remote input circuit,” she recited aloud as she took inventory of the parts she had gleaned. “Embedded micro-antenna with receiver, internal and external temperature sensors, comm-frequency data connection, five-stage heat-inducing wire with emergency interrupt, holonet-enabled transmitter, 16-terabit encryption module board, rechargeable power pack... _perfect_.”

She glanced up and flicked eager eyes from one sister to the other with a satisfied grin. “We have everything we need. Let’s get started.”

While Serren and Kai looked on in amazement, Brin spent the next hour working her magic. Her dexterous hands flew through the pile of scavenged parts, seeming to possess intrinsic knowledge of how to combine what appeared to be little more than a motley heap of scraps into a tidy assortment of “distractions”. From the collection of mismatched parts, Brin fashioned flash grenades, thermal charges, pulsed energy projectiles and a few other devices that Serren didn’t immediately recognize, all designed to draw the guards’ attention in order for the girls to slip into the castle—and out again, hopefully with their father—without anyone becoming aware of their presence.

That was the plan, at least.

By the time evening arrived and darkness began to fall, all of their ragtag equipment had been prepared and carefully packed away into satchels, ready for use in their covert operation. Serren, as the most pragmatic and believable of the trio, was tasked with informing Chewie that they had been invited by some of the local teenagers who’d visited the _Falcon_ earlier to attend a musical recital in the village hall. The girls had concocted the story as a credible reason for them to be absent from the ship for the requisite number of hours they would require to sneak in, find their father, and spring him free of his prison. To persuade Chewie to let them go, Serren was to emphasise the fact that the concert would be both an opportunity for a worthwhile cultural exchange and a way to keep them out of the Wookiee’s hair for a little while.

Serren quailed inside at the prospect of executing that step of the plan. Over and above any of the other tasks, what she hated most was the necessity of lying to Chewie. She feared losing the Wookiee’s respect—or worse, his trust—when he discovered their ruse. On the other hand, she didn’t disagree with Kai’s impatience over their father’s absurd predicament and, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, she secretly relished the idea of playing the hero, too. It was perfectly in keeping with her family’s legacy, she reasoned, and exactly the sort of thing both of her parents and her two uncles had done for one another a million times before, if all the stories were true. Sure, Serren could have blown the whistle on her sisters as soon as she learned of their plans, but where would be the fun in that? And the months of grief she’d get from Kai and Brin for ratting them out would hardly be worth the trouble it would save. She finally justified her decision by reasoning that, by going along to bridle the other two and keep them quiet, the mission was far more likely to be successful. Still, deep down she knew that, when all was said and done, she would owe Chewie an apology.

Luckily, the wise old Wookiee had many years of first-hand experience with all of the Solo girls and he fully understood the stubborn natures of both Kai and Brin—certainly enough to know that they were not ones to be easily dissuaded from a course of action once they’d set their minds to it. With that insight, Serren hoped that Chewie would see her participation in the escapade for what it was: an act of wisdom, rather than an act of rebellion. Knowing her sisters as they both did, chances were good that _somebody_ was going to have to save their skins.


	11. Tal

 

Shrouded in darkness now, but with a hundred points of lights twinkling below to illuminate the flight path to her assigned berth, Tal had to admit that the oceanside city of Orinth looked beautiful. As her A-wing dropped out of the diaphanous mists skirting the jagged coastline that bordered the ancient city, Tal reviewed everything she had learned about her destination during the jump from Telos. Her parents had impressed upon her the need to be as prepared as possible when entering into unfamiliar territory, lessons that had served her well in her solitary travels along the racing circuit, so she’d spent a good portion of the journey trawling the holonet, scanning profiles of the isolated world and its sociopolitical systems from both official and unofficial sources. Whatever was going on down there, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to be armed with some basic information—and besides, she didn’t want to make another blunder of the sort she’d already made with the Portmaster on approach.

She had been given initial clearance to land near the industrial sector on the eastern outskirts of town, though she preferred a docking bay on the western edge, a little closer to the palace. To that end, she’d blithely offered a monetary incentive to the officious controller on the other end of the comm in order to sway the placement of his keystrokes as he issued her landing permit, and then she’d bristled with indignation at his accusation that what she’d offered him was a _bribe_. Now she was more than a little annoyed—but ultimately not surprised—to find herself berthed even further away from the heart of the city than she’d originally been advised. She still had a lot to learn about etiquette and protocol in the Outer Rim, she reflected ruefully as she finished the docking procedures and powered down her ship.  

Her frustration with the Portmaster only trebled, though, when she exited the vessel and found herself face-to-face with an administrative droid who presented her with an electronic invoice for port services and demanded immediate payment. The charges for taxes and adjunct ‘fees’—few of which made any logical sense to Tal whatsoever—were eye-watering, especially for such a backwater world. The lack of any appreciable standardization with the Core worlds was _exactly_ why the New Republic was pushing to forge economic alliances in the region.

But for now there was little that Tal could do. Resigned to her fate, she controlled the impulse to grouse and swear, and simply surrendered her credit chip for the necessary tariffs in silence, and then arranged for the refueling of her ship.

After completing both the obligatory transactions and the final lockdown procedures for her vessel, Tal exited the spaceport and then eyed the row of shuttles for hire that hovered just outside of the port’s security perimeter. The walk from the spaceport to the royal residence would take her a good thirty minutes at least, and that was walking at maximum speed and barring any further delays as she wound her way through the town center. She _could_ take a quick ride to the palace gates instead, she supposed, saving herself some time and thereby getting to the bottom of the whole sordid mess that much quicker, but a wary glance at the fee schedule on display eliminated that possibility. The fares were outrageous, and she was loath to further deplete her already dwindling supply of credits for the luxury of traveling a distance she could easily cover on foot. Slinging her canvas rucksack over one shoulder, she got her bearings and started off in the direction of Galdoral Castle.

Fifteen minutes later, she found herself stepping onto a broad public promenade that extended from the western edge of the town to the castle grounds just over a kilometer away. According to the sources Tal had consulted, the castle grounds served as a sort of local tourist attraction, and the way was clearly signposted and well lighted, but at this hour it was nearly deserted. The cool climate was probably one of the main reasons for the lack of foot traffic, Tal realized, as she left the shelter of the city behind. Tucking her chin down as she walked, she jammed her hands into the pockets of her short leather jacket and braced herself against the brisk ocean breeze that whipped her short hair up into dancing tendrils all around her head. Restless worry over her parents’ plight kept her thoughts in a whirl as she pondered over the scenarios that might possibly explain the reports she’d heard, although the fruitless speculation brought her no comfort.

The walk to the castle did her some good, though; after the long hyperspace journey, it felt great to stretch her legs as she strode along the gently curving paved footpath that hugged the contours of the cliff’s edge all the way from the outskirts of Orinth to the palace grounds. The twinkling of the tiny footlights that illuminated the path and the hypnotic rhythm of the waves crashing against the jagged rocks hundreds of meters below combined with the heavy salt tang of the sea in her lungs to gradually soothe her jangled nerves. She would soon be with her family and would no doubt find out the answers to the questions that had plagued her all the way from Telos.

Before long, the lights of her destination began to come into view. Although it was too dark to fully appreciate its grandeur, the sheer size of Galdoral Castle’s backlit outline was impressive nonetheless, and more imposing in reality than Tal’s preliminary research had led her to expect. Built atop a colossal sea stack just off the coast of the headland, it was joined to the mainland by a narrow limestone bridge. From her vantage point as she descended along the gently sloping promenade, Tal could see an array of portable light towers and a handful of speeders near the access gate at the end of the bridge, around which a cluster of beings were milling as they stashed holo-recording equipment into the waiting vehicles and chatted amongst themselves.

She wrinkled her nose in recognition. Those were representatives of the galactic media down there, she noted; the carrion beasts of the galaxy and no doubt the source of the ridiculous rumors about her parents that were presently making their way from here to the Core Worlds. Tal was grateful for the cover of darkness and for her position well back from their intrusive eyes. Although they seemed to be packing up and on the verge of departing for the night, she didn’t want to take any chances. If she were recognized and accosted by obnoxious media personnel in her present frame of mind, she was likely to say something tart that could return to plague her in every interview for years to come. Though they weren’t looking in her direction, she angled her face away and lengthened her stride, deciding that the sooner she got out of the open, the better.

Leaving the end of the pedestrian pathway, she mounted up a gentle slope of bare rock on the other side, and felt a spike of excitement as she caught a glimpse of her ultimate destination. Perched high on the rocky landing field situated on the mainland opposite the castle, not far up the slope from the foot of the bridge, was the familiar squat, irregular shape of the _Millennium Falcon._ A perimeter of brilliant white flood lights bathed the underside of the ship, highlighting the multi-colored trails of corrosion and blackened swaths of carbon scoring that scarred her sturdy outer plating. Tal smiled.

The sight of the war-weary old freighter was a welcome one indeed; the instant she laid eyes on it, she felt the fretful churning of her thoughts subside and her dour mood begin to lift. The presence of the _Falcon_ meant that her father was still somewhere in the vicinity—he would never stray too far from his beloved ship. Despite the ship’s proximity to the royal residence, though, Tal was more certain than ever that he would not be found, as the gossipy reports would have the galaxy believe, in the arms of the Areti queen—nor of _any_ woman other than Tal’s mother.

As she hastened up the gravel-finished grade that led to the landing field, Tal could see movement underneath the _Falcon_ ’s dull grey hull. Shielding her eyes from the glare of the lights, she was able to make out the familiar outline of Chewbacca’s considerable bulk hunched beneath the belly of the ship. She hadn’t considered that the loyal Wookiee would be a part of this bizarre equation, but seeing him made her heart soar with sudden, hopeful optimism. Chewie had always been a constant in her life and those of her sisters, from as early as Tal could remember. His was a grounding presence. Even in the most chaotic of situations, she knew that she could depend on him to lend both his honesty and his sage advice—and, in times of physical peril, his considerable strength—to keep her family safe, and she felt marginally better already, just knowing he was _here_ and not on Kashyyyk where she’d believed him to be.

Stepping inside the ring of lights, Tal resisted the urge to drop her rucksack to the sandy rock and rush headlong into his furry arms. She hung well back at the perimeter instead, cleared her throat and called out a greeting, lifting her voice to carry over the sound of the wind and the crashing waves below.

“Uncle Chewie.”

At the sound of her voice, the Wookiee’s massive head snapped up and connected with the underside of the _Falcon_ ’s metal hull with a resounding thud. Tal recoiled in a sympathetic wince and opened her mouth to apologize for the abruptness of her appearance, but Chewie didn’t appear to be bothered at all by the knock to his skull. His furry face wrinkled up in an expression Tal recognized as genuine delight and then, in a few long strides, he covered the distance between them, arms outstretched. Tal found herself swept up into two and a half meters of roaring muscle and fur before she could even take a step in his direction. Laughing at the giant Wookiee’s unbridled enthusiasm, she sputtered and squirmed in the crush of his warm hug.

“Chewie,” she croaked, patting his broad shoulder, “...down...can’t breathe.”

Just as her eyes had begun to water, Chewbacca released his firm hold and set her back on her feet. Tal splayed a hand across her heaving chest and took a couple of staggering steps backward while pulling in needed lungfuls of fresh air.

_[*It is good to see you, little one.*]_ Chewie said, reaching out to ruffle her short hair with a massive paw. _[*But I am surprised. Why are you here?*]_

Tal endured the affectionate gesture with good grace, and then raked her fingers through her tousled locks in a futile attempt to re-order them. “I heard something awful,” she replied, hating the faint tremor she could hear in her own voice. “About mom and dad.” She drew a deep breath and blew it out as she hooked a thumb in her belt and quirked a rueful smile at her towering furry uncle, suddenly a little self-conscious about her decision to bolt straight back to the family fold. “It’s probably nothing, I know. Just a tabloid rumour…. But I just…well, it’s been so long. And I… I just wanted to see them.”

Chewie gazed down at her in understanding, solemn and kind. _[*Is this not the height of the swoop racing circuit for the year?*]_ he inquired in a soft growl.

“It is, and it doesn’t matter,” Tal said firmly. “What matters is what’s happening here.” She held the Wookiee’s gaze and read the concern in his azure eyes. “Chewie, you gotta tell me straight. What’s going on? Where’s Dad?”

_[*That, little cub, is a very long story.*]_ Chewie rumbled, extending one shaggy arm in invitation towards the open loading ramp. _[*Perhaps you should come inside.*]_

 

**-:¦:--:¦:--:¦:- -:¦:--:¦:--:¦:--:¦:--:¦:--:¦:-**

 

“Tell me again,” Tal said twenty minutes later, trailing a finger across the handle of her empty cup. “The girls went _where_?”

Chewie shrugged and set his oversized mug on the checkered surface of the holochess table. _[*They left an hour ago to meet some local youths at the town hall for a musical recital,*]_ he said. _[*You know very well how impatient your sisters can be. The wait was making them restless. I agreed it would be good for them to get out for a while, and their absence gives me the chance to tinker with the ship in peace and quiet.*]_

Tal glanced around the _Falcon’s_ empty lounge. It was quiet, all right, but _something_ just didn’t add up. As she’d sat opposite Chewbacca in the _Falcon_ ’s small lounge and listened while he laid out the entire unbelievable tale, she’d felt an increasingly strong sense of apprehension. Now, when he repeated the part about her sisters’ sudden spike of interest in cultural activities, Tal had a _really_ bad feeling about the whole business, a queasy sensation low in her gut that she’d long ago learned to heed.  

“So you say they overheard you talking to Mom?” she asked.

_[*Yes*]_ Chewie shifted his bulk on the circular bench. _[*Brin sliced into the comm transmission*]_

Tal snorted. “Sounds like something she would try.”

_[*It was a good attempt, for one so young. But your mother was not impressed.*]_

“I can just imagine.”

Climbing wearily to her feet, Tal stretched and tried to stifle a yawn as she mulled over what Chewie had told her.

“I’m gonna go freshen up a little,” she said, plucking at the front of her flight suit. “Change my clothes.”  

She didn’t mention that she was going to make a detour to her sisters’ cabin on the way. The girls were up to something, she was sure of it, and whatever it was had nothing to do with innocent explorations of the local culture. But she didn’t see any point in voicing her suspicions to Chewie until she had some solid proof.

The Wookiee grunted in acknowledgement of her announcement, and then climbed to his feet before turning in the direction of the cockpit and shuffling off. _[*They will return soon,*]_ he barked over his shoulder as he departed, _[*and then we can enjoy a meal together.*]_

Tal waited until he was out of sight and then, pivoting on her heel, followed her intuition and headed in the opposite direction, exiting the lounge and making a hairpin turn to follow the narrow, curving corridor that led behind the lounge to the girls’ quarters. Halfway down the short corridor there were two small cabins separated by a tiny fresher; modifications Han and Chewie had fashioned from one of the _Falcon_ ’s erstwhile cargo holds. The first of these was the cabin Tal normally shared with her older sister Breha; the second, just beyond the fresher, was the slightly larger bunk room where the three youngest Solos usually slept when the entire family traveled together.

She palmed the controls and stepped inside the cabin, her eyes roaming the room as she sought evidence to support her suspicions. The room was cluttered with the kind of colorful chaos typical of teenagers: clothing, cosmetics and an assortment of high tech gadgets were strewn about the unmade bunks, and discarded footwear dotted the deck plates. Under normal circumstances, Tal would have thought nothing of the mess. The girls were always inclined to be a little more disorderly in their personal space; it was nothing unusual.

But then her gaze fell upon a storage container that sat on the floor beside the cluttered cabin table. The girls had obviously pillaged the bin before their departure, and carelessly left it sitting out in the open. Staring at it, Tal felt her heart sink. A length of wiring— _fuse relay_ wiring, if she wasn’t mistaken—trailed over the side and curled around its bottom edge. Tal bent to rifle through the bin, tossing aside shorted-out semi-conductors and stripped down component boards that seemed suspiciously out of place amongst the stash of contraband confectionery and unmarked holodiscs. Rummaging blindly to the bottom, her hand closed around a familiar object which she carefully withdrew and then held up before her incredulous eyes.

_A blaster pack_? An increasingly uneasy feeling of dismay stomach fluttered in the pit of her stomach. _What in the nine hells were they up to?_

Then her head shot up as Chewbacca’s massive frame rounded the edge of the open cabin door. With the lightning reflexes of a seasoned swoop-racer, Tal pitched the blaster pack back into the bin and then kicked it out of sight under the workbench, where it whanged against the side support with a reverberating metallic _thunk_.

_[*I see they have left things in their typical state.*]_ The Wookiee gave a growling sneer as he looked around the cramped quarters and took in its unkempt state. _[*I need the adjustable hydrospanner to finish my task,*]_ he groused, advancing a few steps into the cabin’s cozy interior, angling toward the girls’ table where an assortment of tools and dismantled gadgets rested. _[*Brin must learn to return the tools she borrows. What has she been working on?*]_

Doing her best to appear nonchalant, Tal shrugged and took a step toward the table, casually blocking her uncle’s path as she palmed the needed hydrospanner and extended it in his direction.

“Beats me. Looks like it’s just girl stuff, mainly,” she dismissed, pressing the tool into the Wookiee’s broad palm. “No big deal. Here you go.”

She wasn’t quite sure why her first instinct had been to conceal the signs of her sisters’ apparently clandestine activities; old habits died hard, she supposed, and she still wasn’t absolutely certain that the evidence was sufficient to raise the alarm.

Chewbacca closed his fist around the hydrospanner and then gave Tal a sidelong glance, fixing her with his piercing blue gaze.

_[*Do not try to drag the hair into my eyes, little one,*]_ he said. _[*I know you too well.*]_

Tal sighed. She should have known better than to try to slip anything past the perceptive Wookiee—although she did wonder how her younger sisters had apparently managed to do just that. She hesitated and then gave a little shrug, meeting Chewie’s eyes again. “I think they _might_ be…up to something.” She bit the corner of her mouth, hoping she wasn’t jumping to the wrong conclusion. “Something...unwise.”

Chewie tilted his massive head to one side and regarded Tal with curiosity. _[*What do you mean? What could they possibly be up to?*]_

“Look,” Tal said, stepping aside to reveal a few of the items from the storage container that were now piled on the deck in the aftermath of her hasty rummaging. “Wiring, blaster pack casings, fuses, soldering compound...if I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were making....” Her voice trailed off.  

An impossible scenario was forming in her mind, and Tal slowly raised her gaze to meet Chewie’s as he drew back his head in an attitude of cautious disbelief.

“No,” she said in a dubious tone, shaking her head. “There’s no way. Not even those three would be _that_ reckless.”

As if suddenly considering the same disturbing possibility, Chewie’s eyes narrowed and the russet hair on his neck and shoulders bristled visibly. _[*They told me they were going to meet with some of the local children,*]_ he growled.

“Yeah,” Tal murmured. “For some sort of...what did Serren tell you? A cultural event of some kind? A musical recital? Does that really sound like something they would do?”  

Chewie’s expression hardened, and then his furry brow wrinkled in dismay. _[*I am a fool.*]_

“Aw, don’t say that, Chewie,” Tal soothed. “If they’re doing what I think they’re doing, they must’ve gone to great lengths to hide it from you.”

_[*And what is it that you think they are doing?*]_

Tal hesitated. “Uhh, I think maybe they’ve heard one too many family rescue stories....”

Chewie’s broad shoulders sagged. _[*They are going to try to get your father out.*]_

“Yes,” Tal affirmed. “At least, that’s my guess.”

For a moment, the towering Wookiee looked every bit of his two hundred and twenty-five years. A deep, subterranean growl rumbled through his massive body, almost rattling the deckplates beneath Tal’s boots. Then, eyeing Tal with weary resignation, he shook his massive head. _[*Must be something in the genes.*]_

“Hey!” Tal objected, planting a fist on her hip and giving Chewie an affronted glare. “I never did anything _half_ this stupid!”

_[*Did you not, Little One?*]_ Chewie’s blue eyes glinted with amusement. _[*You and I have very different recollections,*_ ] he chuckled. Then, heaving a big sigh, he turned and began to make his way back towards the main hold.

Tal followed, hastily digging out her personal comm and flicking through its settings as she walked. She tried Serren first and then Kai, with no success. Faint hopes sagging, she tried to raise Brin, but switched off her comm in disgust at the sound of the tone that signaled an inoperative device. The fact that all three had their comms off, she supposed, could be attributed to the fact that they were ostensibly attending a concert. But no; there was clear evidence that they’d been hastily assembling homemade smoke bombs in their bunkroom shortly before their departure. And there was that niggling sensation deep in Tal’s gut that told her they were up to no good.

_[*We have to go after them. Stop them before someone gets hurt.*]_

“You don’t think they could get into any real trouble, do you?” Tal worried, pocketing her comm and quickening her steps to keep pace with the Wookiee’s lengthy strides. “I mean...from the looks of things, I doubt they took anything particularly lethal with them.”

Chewie came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the corridor and angled towards Tal, cocking one hairy eyebrow with a quizzical look. _[*We are speaking of your sisters, remember. If there is no trouble to be found, they will no doubt create some of their own.*]_

Tal grimaced. Her shoulders sagged as she felt her earlier optimism begin to wane. “True.”

_[*It is of comfort to know that the Areti are a peaceful people,*]_ Chewbacca said, patting Tal’s shoulder lightly with one shaggy paw. _[*It is unlikely that the girls will come to any harm from the queen’s security forces if they are detected before we can get to them.*]_

“Unlikely, but not guaranteed,” Tal sighed. “I’m sure any palace guards worth their wages will do everything they can to protect the queen from harm. If they feel she’s threatened, they won’t care if it’s three dumb kids with homemade smoke grenades or an entire battalion with missile launchers. They’ll react the same either way.”

_[*So it is imperative that we intercept them before they put any of that ordnance to use,*]_ the Wookiee confirmed with a nod of his shaggy head. _[*I will return to the castle and speak with the Lady Chamberlain. No doubt she can employ the guardsmen to locate the girls and return them to my custody before they can put their plan into motion.*]_

Tal frowned. “Won’t that make things even tougher for Mom, though?” she queried. “I saw a handful of media types milling around by the foot of the bridge as I was walking here, and you know what they’re like. If word of this gets out….”

Chewbacca groaned. _[*Yes. I see your point.*]_ He mulled over the problem for a moment and then gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. _[*I have been inside the palace; I have observed the position of the guards and know something of their routines. I will gain entry to the castle on some pretense and then find the girls myself, while you go and get your mother from Dubrillion.*]_

Tal furrowed her brow as Chewie turned to continue on his way.

“Wait,” she called after him, finally catching up as he exited through the hatch and stepped into the main hold. “Let’s think about this. Chances are they didn’t just stroll through the front gate, right? They’re _sneaking_ in, which means they didn’t take the bridge or fly over the parapets.”

Chewie sank down on the curved bench, pushed aside their empty mugs and rested one massive forearm on the holochess table. _[*But the only other way in….*]_

“...is by sea,” Tal finished, sliding onto the bench beside him. “I’ve seen maps and aerial views of the palace and the surrounding lands. My guess is that they plan to scale down the cliff face and make their way down and around to the lower gate; the one at the base of the sea stack where the boats go in and out.”

_[*If that is true, then they are as reckless and insane as their father before them,*]_ Chewie pronounced, his gruff voice loaded with exasperation.  

Despite the circumstances, Tal had to bite her lip to stop a laugh. “Look, I’m smaller and faster than you; I can get to them in half the time, and with a fraction of the odds of being discovered.”

_[*I am the better climber,*]_ the Wookiee asserted.

“No argument there, Uncle Chewie but, no offense, you’re not exactly built to keep a low profile.”

Chewie grunted his acknowledgement. _[*Your size is an advantage.*]_

“Exactly. Not to mention my A-Wing is a one-seater, so I can’t use that to pick up Mom, and I can’t fly the _Falcon_ by myself.”

_[*That does present a problem.*]_

“But you _can_ pilot the ship alone,” Tal stressed. “And I know my sisters well enough to predict what they’ll do in there and maybe get one step ahead of them...I think.”

Scratching at his furry chin, Chewbacca seemed to ponder over Tal’s proposal for a moment, but it wasn’t long before he turned his azure gaze to her with a decisive nod and a growl of affirmation. Then, heaving his massive bulk from the bench he disappeared into the galley, returning with the thermal decanter of kaffe he had prepared when he and Tal had first sat down to talk.  

_[*Tell me what you have in mind,*]_ he said, dividing the last of the steaming liquid between their two cups. _[*And drink up, Little One. It would seem that both you and I have a very long night ahead of us.*]_

 


	12. Serren

 

“ _Hmpf._ There’s a lot more guards than I was counting on,” Kai muttered, drumming her fingers on her thigh. “I guess we’ll have to do it _extra_ quiet-like.”

The three youngest Solo siblings were crouched on the far side of a substantial basalt boulder, one of several colossal stones that had been placed by ancient engineers in an uneven row along the cliff’s edge, forming a windbreak for the broad clifftop beyond. In addition to shielding them from the strongest of the ocean breezes, the girls’ position gave them a partial view into the walled compound of the Areti royal residence below and the handful of palace guards and staff moving about the darkened grounds there, but kept them out of sight of the reporters milling around the main gate. Through sheer luck, they had managed to slip past the thinning cluster of paparazzi encroaching on the _Falcon_ when they set out for the castle; they couldn’t risk drawing the attention of the galactic media hounds now, not when they were so close to putting their plan into action.

Serren slanted a glance at her sisters. She had managed to convince them that performing a thorough reconnaissance as the first phase of their mission was the sensible thing to do, before rushing headlong into such a potentially risky venture, but Serren could tell that Kai was already growing restless with that plan. Nimble and energetic, she craved action as a matter of course, and she’d been a tightly coiled spring of latent energy ever since they’d sneaked away from the ship and initiated their rescue efforts. Serren was closely attuned to her spirited sister, and knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with maintaining a watch-and-wait approach for much longer.

True to form, Kai angled around to face her twin, her boots scraping against the rock underfoot. “What are we _waiting_ for?” she complained. “We’re wasting time. Let’s just get in there, and get out.”

“Are you crazy? Look at the size of that place. It’s _huge._ And we’re not even sure where he’s being held,” Serren sighed. Even as the words left her mouth, though, she was seized by an idea—something so obvious she was surprised and mildly chagrined that it hadn’t occurred to her sooner. Scrambling around, she lowered herself to sit on the uneven ground and flattened her back against the craggy rock. “Okay,” she said, feeling a little thrill of anticipation. “Let’s at least try to figure out more precisely where he is first. That will make things so much easier.”

Kai stared at her for a moment, open-mouthed, clearly stricken by the same realisation that Serren had just had. “Damn, why didn’t I think of that?” she muttered as she settled down on her knees to observe her sister.  

Closing her eyes, Serren dug her fingertips into the spongy layer of cool moss that covered the rock beneath her, grounding herself and clearing her mind as she allowed her consciousness to drift and connect to the current of life energy flowing all around them.

“Find him yet?” Kai whispered a heartbeat later.

Serren cracked open one eye. “ _Noooo_ ,” she drawled sardonically, “and it might go a little faster if you’d help out, instead of sitting there bugging me. Two heads are better than one, right?”

Kai sighed and rolled her eyes, feigning reluctance. “Maybe for a Troig,” she grumbled, even as she crawled forward and turned herself around to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with her sister.

“Brin,” Serren asked, “keep a lookout, will you?”

Brin glanced at her sisters, her gaze flicking back and forth between the seated pair, and then nodded her understanding. As she turned her attention back towards the palace grounds, Serren linked her hand with Kai’s and closed her eyes once more.

In the span of a heartbeat, Kai was _there_ in Serren’s head, a buoyant whirl in the calm eddy of her own consciousness. Her mind now united with her twin’s, Serren took the lead and projected their combined Force-entities toward the castle grounds, spreading out to flow over its weave of living energies. There were countless numbers of them, sentient and non-sentient alike, contained within the walls of the stone edifice; even the walls _themselves_ were vibrant with minute pinpricks of life resonating from inside the tiniest cracks and crevices of the colossal stone structure. A scattered handful of brilliant beacons—fellow Force-sensitives, Serren recognized—stood out from the rest, but the remainder were nebulous and indistinct. To Serren’s dismay, the unique aura of their father was nowhere to be found, at least not on their first pass.

 _He’s further away than we thought,_ Serren projected, trying not to let her disappointment seep through into her connection with her twin.

 _Keep looking,_ came Kai’s answering thought. _Spread out, look deeper. We know he’s there somewhere._

Serren gave a mental hum of affirmation, a sound that carried through to her physical form. Redoubling their efforts, the twins focused their combined consciousness at the scintillating mass of energies, gliding over the wisps of life and the emotion emitting from each complex sentient, delving further into the deepest regions of the castle.

And then, there it was. On the topmost level of the palace’s southwestern tower: distinctly human, mature and masculine, the swirl of emotions that emanated from the signature were a little muted, but Serren could detect a fierce devotion bracketed by a vague sense of worry that she recognized at once. Confident that it was their father, Serren opened her eyes and stared at the castle, visually pinpointing the faint life glimmer that her mind had latched onto. Through the Force, she drew her sister’s focus to it, marking its location by the levels of sentients around it. She and Kai grinned in unison.

 _Gotcha, Dad_.  

Blinking away the lingering effects of her incorporeal excursion, Serren’s gaze then fell upon her younger sister. She scowled, even as Kai started to chuckle.

“Brin,” Serren ordered in stern tone. “Put that thing away.”

Brin tossed the stun grenade from one hand to the other and gave a nonchalant shrug. “I was just checking it out again. You guys were gone for like...” Brin made a circling motion near her temple, indicating her older sisters’ use of their mental abilities. “... _ages_! What else was I supposed to do?”

“You were _supposed_ to keep watch,” Kai chided, scrambling to her feet.

Serren rose gracefully alongside her twin, clapping at the seat of her trousers to brush off the grit.

“Well, we know where he is,” she said. “Now all we’ve got to do is figure out how to get in there without raising the alarm.”

Although the sun had long since set, the narrow bridge joining the castle rock to the mainland was still brightly lit and lively with moving figures. There was no way the girls could simply saunter over it without being stopped, and there was no other obvious way to reach the sea stack where the castle rested. Far below, they could all hear the crashing of the waves against the cliff face, a sound that only emphasised how tricky it was going to be to gain entry to the castle grounds.

A muffled shout that seemed quite nearby sent all three girls ducking for cover behind the boulder. Serren’s heart pounded and she held her breath, her wide eyes darting from Kai to Brin and back again.

“Did you hear that?” Kai whispered.

“We all heard it,” Serren hissed back, rolling her eyes.

Brin tightened her grip on the grenade she still held in her clenched fist. “It came from over there.” She jerked her head in the direction of the cliff’s edge. "Someone’s down there, in the water.”

“Not likely,” Kai dismissed. “It’s a sheer drop straight down to the sea on that side, as far as I could tell. And it’s dark.”  

The sound repeated, a human voice that echoed off the walls of the bluffs from somewhere well below their position.

“Brin’s right; there’s someone down there.” Keeping her body pressed flat to the jagged rock, Serren poked her head out to peer around the massive stone. Seeing no immediate signs of danger, she edged forward, stepping gingerly toward the precipitous drop.  

“What do you see?” Kai whispered.

“Nothing yet. It’s hard to make out…” She squinted, straining into the darkness below. “Wait; there’s a light...”.  

“Where?” Kai asked, grabbing a fistful of Serren’s jacket to hold her steady while leaning over her shoulder.

“There.” Serren pointed to the water below, where a single bright light bobbed up and down in the waves, drifting with the turning tide and moving further away from the cliffside. When it rounded the end of what appeared to be a sheltered inlet, moonlight on the water revealed the elongated shape of a small skiff.

“What is it?” Brin asked in a hushed voice.

“It’s a _boat_ ,” Kai said. “And it came from somewhere practically right underneath us.” She glanced from one sister to the next with a gleam of excitement in her eyes. “Do you realize what this means?”

“It means you’ve just come up with another one of your bright ideas,” Serren said

  
Kai grinned. “It _means_ there’s another way in.” She bent to retrieve her pack and then slung it over her shoulder. “Grab your stuff, girls; we’ve got a bit of _rescuing_ to do.”


	13. Tal

A brisk gust of ocean wind whipped through Tal’s short hair and caught the open edges of her jacket as she stood, shivering, and watched her uncle raise the ship. Lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the _Falcon_ ’s lights, she caught a glimpse of Chewbacca at the helm and waved her arm, silently bidding him a spacer’s clear skies. Chewie lifted a huge, shaggy paw and returned the gesture, his lips pulled back into the equivalent of a Wookiee smile. Then, with the ship’s repulsors stirring up a whirl of loose vegetation and gravel, the small Corellian freighter lifted off to soar upwards over the churning black waters and into the inky night sky.

As the pale blue radiance of the ship’s engines faded into the blackness, Tal sighed and turned her attention to the curved moonlit pathway that snaked out in front of her, winding along the cliffside away from the _Falcon’_ s erstwhile berth. It was nearly midnight and, although the distant lights of the city cast a diaphanous glow over the surrounding landscape, the shadows at the coastline were deep. Doubtless there were many unseen hazards in the cliffs beyond the illuminated pathway, not to mention the precipitous drop to the dark waters below, and the thought of following after her sisters down that steep rock face was more than a little daunting. Fastening her collar tighter around her neck, she repositioned the canvas satchel full of belaying equipment that she’d taken from the _Falcon_ , and started off down the winding path.

Of course, she mused, she _could_ be wrong in her predictions about the direction the whole thing would take without her intervention. Perhaps the girls _wouldn’t_ get themselves into any sticky predicaments after all. Maybe they would succeed in reaching their father without raising any alarms, and he would sternly set them straight and then send them scurrying right back out of the castle grounds the way they’d come, chastened but unharmed—and without upsetting the Areti queen. 

Tal gave a soft chuff of laughter and shook her head. Who was she kidding? These were her _sisters_ she was trailing, and even if they did have the best of intentions, they were still young and inexperienced enough to blunder into situations they weren’t fully equipped to handle. She needed to locate them, and fast.

The paved walkway angled down a gentle grade, skirting closer to the cliffside. The winds were strongest here, and Tal hunched her shoulders to brace against the bitter gusts, keeping her chilled hands buried deep within the lined pockets of her short jacket. As she walked, her keen eyes scanned the path and surrounding grounds, searching for...something— _what,_ exactly, she wasn’t sure.

She was no scout, but her family had made a point of instilling basic awareness, tracking and survival skills in the girls via regular rugged offworld camping and foraging expeditions. Tal and her sisters had been enthusiastic fans of such activities when they were younger, as they tended to be extended family affairs that were as much fun as they were useful. Their uncles, in particular, had encouraged the practice, and the girls had often been accompanied in their outdoor adventures by their cousins, both human and Wookiee alike. As teenagers, however, they’d all begun to drift away from such pursuits. Although the expeditions continued to be part of their annual family vacations, more often than not there was at least one member of the Skywalker-Solo clan pouting or bemoaning the lack of amenities, and whining about being _forced_ to participate when there were far better and more interesting things to do with their free time. Still, each and every one of them had absorbed valuable skills in those brief wilderness trips. With that mindset in place now, Tal scanned the pathway in all directions, studying the ground beneath her feet for subtle signs of her sisters’ presence and direction of travel.

After only a few minutes of searching, though, she realized the futility of her task. Despite the silvery glow of Areto’s twin moons, it was too dark to see any kind of detail on the pathway beneath her feet. She had a glowlamp in her satchel, but she didn’t dare activate it out here on the cliffside—the bright light would cut through the darkness like a beacon, attracting the attention of anyone in the vicinity of the palace—including the royal guard.

Bracing herself against the biting chill of the wind, she walked to the railing near the edge of the cliff, dropped her pack on the mossy ground there and then hitched herself up, scrambling over the top of the barrier to land on the roughly metre-wide section of uneven rock that separated her from the brink. She inched forward toward the precipitous drop, stepping lightly with painstaking precision, knowing that the slightest stumble or misstep could spell disaster. When she had gone as far as she dared, she carefully leaned a bit further over the edge to get a better look at the section of cliff face on which she stood. From what Tal could see, it appeared to be a sheer drop straight to the water below; no rocky, jutting footholds or natural platforms to aid in the treacherous descent were immediately apparent. How the girls had managed to navigate their way down there without killing themselves on the rocks below was a mystery, but one she wasn’t eager to try and solve by duplication. She might be gaining a reputation for herself as a bit of a daredevil on the swoop circuit, but this was a risk that even she wasn’t willing to take—not if there was an easier way. And besides, her sisters already had a couple of hours’ head start; even if she could find a safe way to rappel down the cliffside, to do so would use up precious time she simply couldn’t afford to waste.

Cold, frustrated and fresh out of ideas, Tal grumbled under her breath as she made her way back to the safer side of the barrier. She leaned her weight against the railing and released a heavy sigh.

_What now?_

From this vantage point, she had a view of the sheer drop of the cliffs as well as the castle and its grounds, and she held her position there, her eyes moving from one spot to the other as she contemplated her next move. She was seriously considering creating a ruckus to get herself detained and questioned by the guards—that would get her inside the castle, at least—when she heard the faint yet distinctive drone of repulsorlifts. Angling her head toward the sound, she saw a group of several landspeeders moving in from south of her position. Though she was fairly certain that the enveloping darkness and their distance from her position placed her well out of visual range, Tal moved quickly to flatten herself against the bordering rocks as they sped past, aiming for the gatehouse at the base of the castle. The speeders stopped there in a flurry of dust and dirt, and their occupants tumbled out in a steady stream.

 _Maintenance crews,_ Tal recognized. It would make sense that crews would be brought in during the nighttime hours, when the narrow passageways were less travelled and free from obstruction. It also made sense that, if their labours were focused on the common areas at the fore of the castle, they would arrive through the main gate, rather than ascend what she assumed were hundreds of stone steps up from the lower gate with so much equipment in tow. There were twenty or so beings in total, in all shapes, sizes and species. As they began to unload supplies and tools, Tal recognized her opportunity. All she had to do was hustle her way down there, slip in among them, and she was home free.

All she needed now was a distraction….

:¦:--:¦:--:¦:-

_Score one for the famous Solo luck._

Tal still couldn’t quite believe her good fortune. When she’d started off after her sisters, she’d harboured no illusions that getting into the castle would be as simple as walking up to the main gate, strolling past the sentries posted there and straight into the vaulted stone corridors of the castle. But in the end, that’s exactly what she’d done.

Slipping in among the maintenance crew had been surprisingly simple. As she’d expected, each of the groups seemed to assume that she had travelled with one of the others, and she’d been greeted only by a few fleeting glances and a polite murmur or two from the workers whose team she’d joined. The other items she’d brought with her from the _Falcon_ helped to create the perfect disguise, so with a coil of rope slung over one shoulder and her climbing harness cinched around her hips, she’d taken up a position among several other similarly rigged stonemasons, and the rest had been easy. Tal had to hold herself back from punching a fist in the air and giving a victory whoop as she sauntered straight by the apathetic guards, none of whom gave her a second glance as the crew filed past.

Once inside the castle, Tal slowed her pace and lagged toward the back of the group, keeping her eyes sharp and scanning the ornate marble and stone walls of the main foyer, watchful for any sign of a shadowy side passage or deserted corridor that would offer her the chance to slip away.

Phase one of her plan was complete. Now, if her luck continued to hold, she would swiftly accomplish phase two: intercepting her sisters and turning them back the way they’d come. Their father would remain safely ensconced within the castle walls, none the wiser.


	14. Rellius

“I don’t care how it’s done.”

Amadi Rellius directed his muttered words to the tall, hulking figure standing opposite him, a figure swathed in robes so dark they rendered him nearly invisible in the gloomy light of the dank cavern in which they stood. Reaching into the folds of his robe, Rellius withdrew the slender, flat object concealed there and peered up at the cowled figure. “In fact, I’d rather not know. Plausible deniability, you understand.”

He didn’t know his silent visitor's name or anything else about him, although that was probably for the best. Tapping into his extensive network of connections, he’d reached deep into Areto’s shadowy underworld to find this mysterious stranger, assured by his most trustworthy aide of both the assassin’s discretion and his commitment to task. He certainly _looked_ the part; the outline of his imposing frame was veiled by a dark, billowy cloak, and with his face obscured by the dark hood drawn over his head that concealed his features, Rellius couldn’t even be certain that he was dealing with a _man_ at all.

A small noise in the distance made him pause, and he cast another look at their surroundings, anxious to ensure they were still alone. They stood huddled together in a small, natural cavern deep in the dark underbelly of the castle rock. It was one of several rocky inlets that had been sculpted by the waves, which were now used as access points into the lower levels of the estate. Like the stronghold above them, the shadowy chamber had been carved from white limestone, although algae, salt crust and streaks of black lichen now discolored the walls. The castle’s occupants had also, at some point in its long history, expanded the space above. Just overhead, the ancient rock had evidently been chiseled by hand, shaped in crude imitation of the voluted architecture of the castle itself, and yellowed sconces embedded along the upper reaches of the curving walls cast a wavering, amber light.

Rellius despised venturing into this area of the castle, but the murky depths near the lowermost gate was the only logical place for such an encounter. He couldn’t invite guests of this sort to his private chambers for a casual drink, after all, and to leave the castle grounds himself would attract unwanted attention. Two of the guards who had pledged secret fealty to Rellius—though they were ostensibly employed by the queen—had cleared the way for his descent to this chamber, and were now stationed just beyond the gate at the top of the short flight of stone steps that led up into the lower chambers of the castle proper. Rellius was grateful for their service and glad to have loyal men to keep watch while he conducted this clandestine exchange, but he was now anxious to see it concluded. Below their feet, relentless waves sloshed around the stout wooden legs of the low dock upon which they stood, and Rellius was reminded of the imminent turning of the tide. The mysterious figure standing opposite him still hadn’t spoken, and their time was growing short.

The distant noise he’d heard wasn’t repeated, so Rellius gave himself a mental shake and focused his attention back on the shadowy figure.

“Do you understand your instructions?” he hissed impatiently. “You must take the body with you and dispose of it far from here, leaving no trace of death or violence behind. It is vitally important for it to appear as though he has merely escaped and left the planet, _not_ that he has come to any harm.”

The stranger’s hooded head dipped low as if in acquiescence, but the rasping, inhuman voice that emanated from that shadowy hood conveyed a distinct impression of dissent. “The associate who employed me failed to disclose the identity of my target,” the creature growled in oddly accented Basic. “And now you inform me it is the Corellian _Han Solo_ you wish to eliminate? That will cost you more than the sum agreed.” The cloaked figure shifted his feet and angled his broad shoulders in Rellius’ direction, before adding as an apparent afterthought, “My lord." 

Rellius scowled. He had intended for this to be a brisk transaction; after a cursory explanation of the _who_ and the _where_ —the _why_ was irrelevant, he reasoned—all that remained was for the infernal creature to accept the first payment and get on with the job, allowing Rellius to return to his own realm and await the outcome in apparent innocence. The stranger’s objection and his demand for additional payment was an unforeseen and very unwelcome complication. 

“Why should it cost more?” he snarled, striving to keep his voice low. “Do you take me for a fool? We have already agreed upon a price, and anything more is merely extortion. You have some nerve—” 

The other being made a strange sound; a series of wet, snuffling snorts that Rellius belatedly identified as laughter.

“A far heavier price is required to take the life of a decorated hero such as Solo,” rasped the specter in a tone of grim amusement. Then he held out a leathern glove—or perhaps it was a palm, Rellius thought with a shudder; he couldn’t make out which in the gloom—and beckoned with a twitch of long fingers. “And all for the sake of maintaining your life as a pet in the lap of luxury….” The derision in the assassin’s tone was unmistakable this time. 

“ _That_ is none of your concern.” Rellius’s spine prickled. For a fleeting moment, he was tempted to call the whole thing off, dismayed and angered by the assassin's presumptive insolence. He’d naively assumed that hired killers would forego the snide commentary in favour of getting paid a small fortune for an hour’s work.

The tide was turning now, although the water level was still quite low. At nearly full ebb, myriad sessile shoreline predators such as barnacles and cnidarians were exposed, and trailing mats of olive and brown seaweed draped over the rocks around the edges of the cave, their briny, sour odor conveyed into the arched entrance by the evening wind. Clawed crustaceans and nocturnal flying insects, illuminated by the wavering yellow light of the lamps, swarmed over the seaweeds’ glistening tubular leaves and bulbs, plucking and scavenging whatever prey they could find still stranded within the rapidly drying, reeking green mass. Rellius shuddered at the sight of those cold-blooded parasites, busily gorging themselves before the tide came in and washed it all away. 

The other being was still waiting, palm outstretched, for the money he was owed. “If you wish Solo eliminated, you must pay me what I ask,” he insisted in a low growl. “Otherwise, it is not worth the risk.” 

Rellius gave an exasperated huff. “What _risk?_ He’s nothing but an aging human, a relic trying desperately to cling to the glory of his youth. He’s locked in an isolated bedroom at the top of the southwestern tower—a room to which you now hold a _key_ —and his guard detail has been reduced to _two men._ What could be easier?” Rellius was aware that his voice had risen steadily in pitch as he was speaking and was now verging on becoming shrill. With some effort, he softened his tone and spoke through tight lips. “Why are we even talking about this? Are you a professional or n—”

“You are no hunter,” the other being snapped, his rasping voice now devoid of all humour. He turned his cloaked head a little further in Rellius’ direction and cocked it to one side. From deep within the shadowy hood, Rellius caught a glimpse of gleaming yellow eyes. “But _I am_ a hunter, and I know my quarry well. The reputation of that particular Corellian is well-known outside of backwater planets like this one. Solo is a survivor. Even imprisoned and stripped of weapons, he may yet present a challenge. Therefore, I require a third again of what we agreed, or you must find someone else to do it.”

Rellius stifled the urge to exclaim again, painfully conscious of the fact that the transaction that should have taken no longer than a moment or two had stretched on far too long. Gritting his teeth, he extended a credit chip over the other man’s palm.

“Fine,” he bit out. “I shall pay you what you ask. The money doesn’t matter. What matters,” he continued as he pressed the chip into the waiting hand, “is that it’s _done._ Tonight, quickly and quietly. No _body._ No _evidence_. Understand?”

The faceless mercenary closed his leather-clad fingers tightly over the credit chip, and the edge of his hood fluttered as he gave a single, sharp nod.

 

 

 


	15. Serren

"Got any more bright ideas?” Brin sneered.

Kai shot a withering glance across the stony gap that separated her from her younger sister.

“It’s not my fault,” she retorted in a fierce whisper. “This is the right way in, I’m sure of it. How was I supposed to know there’d be people hanging out here? We’ll just have to wait ‘til they leave.”

Secreted on opposite sides of a narrow passage behind a carved stone archway at the mouth of the lower gate, all three girls watched with uneasy eyes the exchange taking place on the low dock just beyond and slightly below their present position.

“You had one job, Kai,” Brin persisted grouchily. “ _One_. _”_

“Would you two be _quiet?_ ” Serren hissed, elbowing Brin, who was pressed close to her side and still grumbling. “They’ll hear us!”

As if to confirm Serren’s fear, the man below them—a middle-aged human, richly dressed, and bearing the air of someone of importance—suddenly stopped speaking, cocked his ear, and glanced around at his surroundings with a cautious, narrowed gaze. His companion, clad head-to-toe in a billowing dark cloak that concealed his form and features, remained eerily motionless. Serren held her breath as the three girls eased backwards, silently flattening themselves against the rough-hewn stone edges of the archway.

Silently chastising herself for going along with her sisters’ daft rescue plan in the first place, Serren fretted over what to do next. She should have _known_ there would be a hitch somewhere along the way. Things had gone far too smoothly up until this point, and she was beginning to get the feeling that disaster must be looming around the next corner.

They had made it down the cliff on a surge of adrenaline, relying on the Force—and a healthy measure of good luck—to augment their natural agility and the climbing skills they'd honed on visits to Kashyyyk. Reaching the bottom, they’d then ventured cautiously along the rocky seaside ledges and into the broad inlet situated in the underbelly of the castle rock. There, Brin had been rather crestfallen to discover that the boats and small hovercraft they'd seen leaving the shallow bay had apparently taken most of the castle's dockside staff with them, leaving the place virtually deserted, and offering no immediate opportunities to deploy the myriad ‘distractions’ she’d devised.

Creeping quietly and keeping to the shadows, they’d then managed to navigate along the perimeter of the gloomy marina and into the vast system of natural caves and mooring bays underneath the castle rock, keeping their eyes peeled for a way up into the castle proper. A few close encounters with the few remaining workers striding along the docks had set their pulses racing and put them on high alert, but the preoccupied personnel were easily distracted with a flick of the Force, allowing the sisters to slip past without drawing any attention to themselves. Reaching out with her senses, Serren had found her father’s distinctive signature and confirmed with a glance at Kai that they were indeed heading in the right direction. She had just begun to feel a touch of relief and a rising sense of hope for the success of their mission when they’d passed through a narrow passage and stumbled upon _this._

It was a rather sketchy-looking little conclave, to Serren’s wary eye: two figures hunched together in the deepest shadows of the innermost cavern, at the terminus of the shallow bay. Something about the tense body language of the richly dressed man made her deeply uneasy, and the tingle up her spine was a warning she couldn’t ignore. But with Kai huddled on one side of the archway and Serren and Brin on the other, there was not much they could do but wait for the two men to leave the area—preferably by one of the many other side passages—and hope that their rescue plan didn’t come to an end before it was even truly underway.

On the dock below, seemingly satisfied that there were no hidden dangers lurking in the shadows, the well-dressed man turned his attention back to his companion and they resumed their hushed conversation.

Serren shivered as her eyes roamed over the man’s tall, cloaked associate. She'd been slow to identify it, but she realized now with growing alarm that there was a distinct sense of menace emanating from the hulking figure. She felt the skin of her neck and face grow warm even as her hands grew cold. Curling her fingers into fists, she cast an anxious glance over one shoulder. The underground inlet remained strangely quiet behind them, with only the lapping of the waves and the occasional rush of sea air breaking the stillness. She turned her attention back to the two men and felt cold certainty settle low in her belly; something was definitely wrong.

Crouched beside her, Serren heard Brin exhale in a rush. “Maybe we should go back,” she whispered. “Find another way in.”

“Are you kidding? This is _perfect_ ,” Kai muttered back, and then blinked at the blank stares directed at her by her sisters. She widened her eyes and gestured at the cavern ahead. “There’s like a million different ways leading out of there. Do you guys know which way to go?”

Brin exchanged a look with Serren, and then offered a shrug. “No. So?”

“So, Mr. Fancypants down there belongs up in the main castle, for sure, you can tell by his clothes,” Kai whispered. “All we gotta do is follow him when he leaves, and we can maybe avoid wandering around the store rooms and cellars all night.”

Serren had just opened her mouth to reply when the sound of a name she recognized reached her ears, emerging as a low but distinct growl from the throat of the tall, cloaked figure on the dock. She froze, flinging up a hand to silence her sisters, but they’d clearly heard it, too. Together, the three girls turned wide eyes back to the shadowy figures on the dock below. Leaning as far forward as she dared, Serren strained to pick up on bits of the conversation, the seed of trepidation in her gut growing more insistent by the second.

The being in the black cloak suddenly spoke in a louder and more demanding voice. “If you wish Solo eliminated,” he rasped, his rough voice reverberating around the walls, “you must pay me what I ask.”

Serren blinked and felt the breath leave her lungs in a rush, even as she felt Brin stiffen beside her and give a strangled squeak. It felt as though she’d been punched in the gut. Across the narrow passageway, Kai’s face blanched white in the dim light as she turned wide eyes to meet her twin’s gaze.

_E-l-i-m-i-n-a-t-e-d_? Kai mouthed the word with exaggerated care, looking truly horrified.

Serren felt Brin’s small hand slip into her own, abandoning in an instant the role of the bold and daring rescuer; now she was just a child seeking reassurance. Serren swallowed against the lump of cold fear in her throat and gave her sister’s hand a gentle squeeze.

All at once, the stuffy-looking man on the dock below began to speak in a much different tone of voice, one that edged gradually higher in volume and pitch. Serren strained once more to pick up the thread of the discussion, but his words were obscured by a whistling gust of wind that swept through the cavernous space. His tone sounded exasperated and he seemed on the verge of storming off but, as the girls looked on, he appeared to regain his composure. Finally, with a begrudging air, he dropped something into the taller figure’s waiting hand and then delivered some final instructions in a tone too low for the girls to hear. The deep hood covering his companion’s head dipped down once in acknowledgement, and then the cloaked creature turned and disappeared into a shadowy side passage.

Serren was suddenly, terribly aware that she and her sisters were now floundering in very deep waters indeed. They had sneaked away from Chewie to infiltrate the castle and free their father without telling anyone where they were going. Now, utterly alone, they found themselves unwittingly cast not as daring rescuers, but as the sole, thin defense between their father and a paid assassin.

For that was _exactly_ what they’d just witnessed, Serren was sure: the moment when a killer had been hired to murder their father. It was like something out of a bad holodrama, too strange to be true. But some instinct—or perhaps a faint vibration in the Force—told her that the threat was real.

Despite her youth and relatively sheltered upbringing, she was far from naive; she and her sisters had been reared by people who’d lived through the horrible final decades of the erstwhile Empire and who had fought fiercely, risking life and limb, to bring it down. The high political profiles of their parents and uncles, coupled with their Jedi heritage—once it became widely known—made the girls attractive targets to some of the nastier denizens of the galaxy. Consequently, they’d learned self-defence and survival skills very early on, and they were under no illusions about the state of the galaxy, even now, under the relatively stable governance of the New Republic. Bad people existed on every world, Serren was well aware, and they could come in any shape, size, sex or species. Her blood ran cold at the thought of one such wicked creature now pocketing his pay and turning his dark skills to the task of killing her father. She turned frightened eyes to her twin’s face. They stared at one another in silence for a long moment, minds suddenly connected and racing in tandem through the Force, but both at a loss for words.

Trying to reign in her frantic thoughts, Serren first considered backtracking the way they’d come, rushing back to the _Falcon_ and confessing all to their Wookiee uncle so they could enlist his help. But then she remembered their perilous descent, or perhaps Kai did—it was sometimes difficult to tell the difference when they were linked like this—and changed her mind. Recalling the height of the cliffs they’d scaled down, the darkness, and the brutal crash of the waves on the rocks that had posed enough of a challenge and delayed them considerably on the way down made that option very unappealing. Furthermore, unless Serren missed her mark, the murderous plan sealed before them was already in motion; it could be in the process of being carried out even as they stood here, dazed and anxious, trying to figure out what to do. Serren’s gut told her there was no time to spare for going back.

She also briefly considered and then hastily dismissed the notion of raising an alarm throughout the castle. If the richly dressed man who’d hired the killer had free run of the place, as he appeared to do, it would seem that the person who wished her father dead was someone in a position of both wealth and power. The tumult that would result from Serren and her sisters attempting to call attention to the plot, plus the time it would take to explain themselves and their actions, would likely provide the assassin with the perfect opportunity to do the deed. Serren exchanged an eloquent glance with her twin and knew that Kai had shared those fleeting thoughts with her, and they were in complete agreement. It would appear that what had begun as a bit of a lark—a hastily thrown together, unlikely and almost make-believe rescue mission—had suddenly turned into a very real fight to ensure their father’s survival.

Kai was the first to break the stunned silence, giving a jerk of her chin toward the dock as the man turned on his heel. “He’s leaving,” she said in a low whisper for Brin’s benefit. “Watch where he goes.”

Serren gave a curt nod, and gave Brin’s hand another reassuring squeeze before she released it and turned her attention to the man in the fancy clothes. He was angling now for one of the corridors directly opposite the girls’ position, stepping with care over the slick surface underfoot, but moving at a determined pace.

“Quick, follow him. Not too close,” Kai directed. “I’ll go first. Brin, behind me.” She exchanged another glance with her twin. Serren gave a nod of acquiescence. There was nothing else they could do but try to reach their father before the shadowy assassin made his move.

Passing anxious looks of concern between themselves, the girls held their positions until they saw the last flutter of the man’s robe sweep around the corner of the passageway ahead, and then moved swiftly from their sheltered location to follow. Kai slipped from her place to take the lead, but Brin hesitated, glancing up at Serren once more. Serren squeezed her sister’s shoulder warmly, and then gave her a nod and a gentle nudge forward to send her on her way. Then, casting a cautious eye behind her to make certain the coast remained clear, she fell into step behind them.

The three girls hugged the shadows close to the inner wall as they traveled the length of the narrow passageway. Serren could feel waves of energy radiating from Kai through the Force—nervous excitement, apprehension and more than a touch of slow-burning outrage, all underscored by a quavering current of fear. Despite the storm of emotions Serren felt from her twin, though, Kai seemed to have shelved her headstrong exuberance, and was putting on a rare display of sensible self-restraint. She moved slowly, keeping her keen eyes watchful and her footsteps light as she led the way towards the foot of a massive stone staircase from which countless low, wide steps spiralled up and out of sight.

They paused there, and Brin lifted anxious eyes to drift up the length of the shadowy staircase as she chewed at her bottom lip. “Where do you suppose that ends up?” she ventured in a small, quiet voice. “It’s so dark….”

"Stop acting like a scared little _tooka_ ,” Kai snapped over her shoulder. “It’s not like we have a choice. That’s the way _he_ went, so that’s the way _we_ have to go.”

Serren felt a sudden spike of insecurity and deep dismay emanating from her youngest sister. Tucked between Serren and her twin, Brin fell silent and dropped her head down toward the gritty stone floor, kicking at a few stray pebbles with the toe of her boot.

_Sh_ _e’s so young,_ Serren thought as she gazed down at Brin’s small frame. She was also evidently fraught with fear and hesitation, Serren realized, and the last thing she needed was for her older sisters—the ones who were supposed to be strong, rational and firmly in charge—to be harsh with her simply for behaving for a moment like the child that she was.

Kai must have sensed Brin’s anxiety, too. Before Serren had a chance to speak, Kai turned and met her gaze over the top of Brin’s head, with a glimmer of regret in the depths of her dark brown eyes. Serren nodded, and then Kai dipped her head down to catch her little sister’s eye.

“Hey, look,” she said, her tone and her expression softening, “I’m scared too, alright? We all are. But we gotta do this. You heard those guys; Dad’s in trouble, _big_ trouble, and it’s up to us to get him out of it.” She gave her sister a friendly cuff to the shoulder. “We’re gonna need you, _Boom-Boom_. Don’t go all soft on us now.”

Brin lifted her eyes to meet Kai’s gaze, and then directed another glance back at Serren.

“That’s right,” Serren echoed. “We’re in this together. Who _else_ knows how to use all those gadgets you brought? We need you, kid.”

Brin straightened her shoulders and offered a small smile.

“Okay,” she nodded and turned resolutely towards the foot the steep stairs once more. “But if we’re gonna do this thing _for real_ , I’d better get the chance to blow somethin’ up.”

**-:¦:--:¦:--:¦:-**

Ten very long and nerve-wracking minutes later, the girls reached the top of the winding staircase, their breathing shallow and a bit labored—not from exertion but from the flood of adrenaline surging through their bodies. Serren could feel the tension in her sisters that matched her own and knew that the slowness of their ascent hadn’t helped matters much. Having no clear idea how high they would be climbing, or if they would perhaps encounter guards posted on any of the many small half-landings on the way, they’d been forced to creep along, both Force-sensitive girls casting their senses ahead to make sure the way was clear. The stairs were dimly lit by iron sconces staggered at irregular distances along its high, curved walls, leaving the girls to ascend some sections in eerie shadows, and lending a feeling of foreboding to the atmosphere that quickened the pace of their footsteps toward the next watery glow of light in the distance.

The knot of anxiety in Serren’s stomach tightened with every step as she thought about how swiftly the cloaked figure had moved once he’d been dispatched, and how close he could be even now to carrying out his planned attack. There was no time to waste, but there was also great danger is rushing ahead into unknown territory. It wouldn’t do for them to bump into Areti soldiers who might simply collar them and haul them off to some holding cell to be questioned in the morning, when it was too late to save their father’s life.

Finally, they reached what appeared to be the last turn and could see a narrow wooden door at the top of the last short flight of steps. 

Kai held up a forestalling hand. “Stay here,” she whispered, halting her sisters under the cover of darkness just before the end of the final curve. “I’ll go on ahead and check it out. Wait for my signal.”

Serren and Brin crouched in the shadows, watching as their sister skated cautiously from one side of the narrow landing to the other, her body kept low to the ground and her movements quick but calculated. Flattening her back against the stone wall on the other side, she looked back and gave a short nod to her sisters. With Serren’s Force senses on high alert for any signs of activity from the rear, Kai began to ascend the stairs sideways, keeping her body pressed closely against the carved stone as she moved. Serren held her breath, listening to the faint crunch of loose pebbles under Kai’s feet. She watched her sister place each foot in turn on one rough stone tread and then the next, inching along with slow and painstaking precision until, finally, she reached the top. Serren released her breath in an audible rush and heard Brin—who had molded herself against Serren’s back and was peeking out from over her shoulder—do the same.

Kai shot a warning glance in their direction, lifting a finger to her lips in a pantomimed request for continued silence. Then she placed her palms flat against the narrow plank door, and angled her head to press her ear against the weathered wood. She held her position for a heartbeat, and then turned to face her sisters, and gave them another nod and a thumbs-up.

Brin broke position first, and scrambled up the stairs ahead of Serren. She looked almost gleeful as she appraised the heavy iron door handle and the drawn bolt, shifting her weight from one foot to the other with obvious anticipation. “I have the perfect thing,” she whispered, and stepped back to begin rummaging in her pack, presumably to find whatever gadget or gizmo she thought would do the trick.

While Brin searched, Serren took hold of the handle and tried the bolt, anticipating it to be solidly locked. There was a slight, rusty scrape of metal-on-metal, but to Serren’s surprise the iron pin began to slide back with very little effort. Her eyes met Kai’s, and while her twin raised an equally curious-looking eyebrow, Serren gently slipped the bolt all the way back and then opened the door a crack, enabling the two of them to peer through to the other side. A soft gust of fresh air hit Serren’s face as her eyes took in what looked like a darkened courtyard beyond, and the glimmer of warm lights from the castle proper just beyond. They’d reached the middle ward.

Behind them, Brin finished combing through her pack. “Gotcha!” she muttered in a quietly triumphant tone.

Kai and Serren exchanged glances, and then turned to see their sister holding aloft a tiny, oblong charge between her thumb and forefinger, proudly presenting it for her sisters’ approval. Seeing their expressions, Brin’s blue eyes fell first to the drawn-back bolt, and then to the partially open door, before flicking disbelieving eyes from one sister to the other. Her shoulders sagged with visible disappointment.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” she said querulously. “That’s just...not _fair_.” With a huff of resignation, she stuffed the miniature charge into a jacket pocket, crossed her arms and gave an exaggerated pout.

“Sorry, kid,” Kai shrugged. “Better luck next time.”

Serren was just about to add her condolences, glad to see Brin bouncing right back to her usual plucky self, when she felt a distinct tingling of her Force sense, a little shiver of energy that heralded a familiar mental touch. It was a careful but insistent intrusion from the only woman in the galaxy—as far as Serren was aware, anyway—who had the power and the skill to communicate with her from such a great distance.

_Are you okay?_

A swift glance at Kai told Serren that her twin had also picked up on their mother’s worried query. It was the equivalent of a gentle mental prodding rather than actual words; nevertheless it conveyed Leia’s question clearly enough for the girls to understand her meaning. Serren bit her lip, belatedly realizing that her own heightened emotions and those of her sisters had alerted their mother to their situation, even from so far away. Although she and Kai and their older sister Breha had practised telepathic communication since before they could even speak properly, it was still a difficult skill to execute well, especially while in a disturbed emotional state. But they couldn’t very well ignore their mother.

Linking her mind to Kai’s in that mystical, unseen dimension, Serren closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated all of her energies on reaching out. The trick, she thought, was to keep the message simple.

_We’re okay_ was the message she directed at her mother, and felt Kai echo the sentiment, boosting and strengthening it with the power of her mind.

_But we need you,_ Serren added, trying her best to keep her plea free of the sense of desperation that kept welling up within her at the thought of her father being stalked by a professional killer. She bit her lip to stop it trembling.

There was a slightly longer pause and then Leia’s reassuring touch reached them once more, this time tinged with a sense of relief. _Ah, girls. Your father is fine. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything soon._

Without warning, Kai’s Force sense flashed hot and lanced out; it was the equivalent of a wordless, anguished cry as her mounting fears evidently got the better of her. _He’s_ not _okay, Mom. He’s in real danger. We have to help him!_

Blindly, Serren reached for her twin’s hand and gave it a squeeze, though she kept her eyes shut and fought to keep the tenuous mental link with their mother intact. She was doing her best to stay calm, but it was difficult to avoid amplifying her sister’s anxious energy when it so closely matched her own. Still, she felt the need to echo Kai’s assertion. _He needs our help_ right now _, Mom._

Although she was presumably still several systems away, Leia’s response felt instantaneous and emphatic. _Stay where you are. Guard yourselves. Don’t do anything stupid._

Serren winced, aware that the open channel between herself and her mother would allow Leia to pick up on her reflexive, regretful response, even if her initial impulse was to hold back and let her believe that they would comply with her instructions. There was nothing even a powerful Jedi consular could do from Dubrillion, after all—at least, Serren didn’t think so—and the girls were now the only allies who could feasibly reach their father in time to interfere with the assassin’s plan. Reluctantly, she conveyed her intentions to her mother.

_Sorry, Mom. Trust us, please. We_ can’t _wait._

Even if Serren had possessed the power to communicate the complex explanation for her refusal, there was no time. She sent her mother another wave of apology, knowing even as she did so that there would be a reckoning for their actions in due course, especially once her mother found out the full extent of their deliberate deception of Chewbacca. After a long, fraught moment, she and Kai received another communication from their mother, but this one carried a strangely different tone; it was an odd blend of resignation and benediction, suffused with love and encouragement and maternal concern.

_Okay. I trust your judgement. But be careful. I’ll be there as soon as I can._

Opening her eyes, Serren exchanged a surprised glance with her twin and released her hand. Beside them, Brin cleared her throat ostentatiously, drawing their gazes to her face.

“I take it that was Mom on the ‘comm’?” she said dryly, waggling her finger at the space between their heads to show that she’d witnessed their brief mental confab.

“Yep,” Kai affirmed. “And she’s on to us, now.” Moving cautiously and checking one last time to ensure they were unobserved, she pushed the door open the remainder of the way, and held it ajar for her sisters. “Come on, we gotta keep moving. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

**-:¦:--:¦:--:¦:-**

Huddled along with her sisters in a narrow, shadowed alcove in the wall that bordered the outer and middle wards of the castle, Brin sat back on her heels and rummaged through the contents of her satchel. Serren watched with curiosity as her sister pulled out a tiny, spherical object—no more than a centim or two in diameter—rubbed it vigorously against the breast pocket of her jacket, and then held it up to the thin shaft of moonlight that filtered into the recess. Seemingly satisfied with what she saw, she gave a short nod, clenched the object in her small fist and then crawled forward on her knees, carefully poking her head out just enough to cast a cursory glance in each direction beyond the sheltering wall. Brin then tossed the sphere into the empty expanse between their temporary refuge and the narrow opening in the inner wall just visible to the northwest, directly across from the northern postern gate, and then withdrew into the shadows. Intrigued, Serren peered out from the gap, keeping her eyes trained on the orb until it rolled to a stop against the opposite wall. She subsided then, and angled her head to watch as her sister hunted through her satchel once more, this time withdrawing a thin, rectangular datapad which she quickly powered up as she settled herself in a cross-legged position on the dusty ground.

Serren shuffled forward on her knees and leaned over, peering with curiosity as Brin’s deft fingers flew across the screen. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“Re-con,” Brin muttered in return, balancing the datapad across one bent knee. “Just watch.”

Brin tapped in a few more codes, and a trace of a smile flickered across her face. Serren shifted her gaze from the expression of satisfied delight on her sister’s face to the screen, and watched in fascination as the datapad came to life. She had to give her clever sister credit for ingenuity. What Brin had employed was a remotely powered micro-droid. As it rolled along unseen through the corridor and into the inner ward, its powerful sensors fed back data that exposed the challenges that lay ahead: diagrams of the castle’s primary structure, locations of security towers, and detailed schematics of every archway, door, and alcove in its vicinity.

Brin’s grin grew, a crooked smirk inherited from her father that crept slowly over her face. She clapped her hands in triumph, and then shrank at the cautionary _shhhh_ issued from Kai, who was crouched toward the back of the alcove and popping up to cast furtive glances over the wall, keeping a keen watch for any sign of trouble coming from the direction of the outer ward. Brin glanced at Serren with a shrug, mouthed a half-hearted _sorry,_ and dropped her gaze to continue to study the feeds.

“Dad’s somewhere _here_ , you said?” Brin asked, indicating the southwest tower of the castle.

Serren closed her eyes and focused her senses on her father’s unique signature. It came to her strong and clear this time, bracketed by the same sense of worry they’d sensed earlier that evening. Futilely, Serren reached out to him, fervently wishing that he could hear the urgent warning she wished to give: _Be on your guard, Dad. Someone’s got it in for you._ But her father was perfectly blind to the Force, as far as she knew, and completely deaf to her message. She just hoped that his lifelong claim to extraordinary good luck would hold out tonight and keep him safe.

“Yes,” she replied to Brin at length, opening her eyes. “My sense of him is stronger, the closer we get.”

“It looks like the most direct route is through the inner ward,” Brin commented. “Duck through the main kitchens, and through the service corridors into the tower.” Then she shook her head at the data screen as her smile faded into a scowl. “I was afraid of that,” she muttered.

“What?” Serren urged. “What do you see?”

“Sentries,” Brin said, tipping up the screen to point out the heat signatures dotted in locations around the castle and grounds.“Tons of ‘em, everywhere. Stationary _and_ patrolling. You can tell by the way they move in straight lines, or don’t move at all.”

Serren stared at her younger sister, wondering where and how she’d manage to pick up such knowledge—not to mention the rather worrisome array of skills she’d displayed so far on this little adventure.

“We’ll just have to find a way to get past them,” Kai tossed over her shoulder. “You’ve got gadgets; use ‘em.”

Serren eyed her sister warily. “Letting off explosives at random will bring half the royal guard running down here. There has to be a simpler and _quieter_ solution.”

“I have a better idea,” Brin murmured, thoughtfully tapping her delicate chin with one finger. “Why waste firepower, when we can smoke ‘em out?”

“What are you talking about?’ Kai said in a rough whisper.

“Come here,” Brin urged her sister closer with a wave of her hand. “Here. On the left of the corridor just inside the entryway, there’s a small room. Droid is flagging it as a bake house. Baking mean _ovens_. Ovens mean—”.

“ _Fire_. Smoke. Boom-Boom, you are a genius,” Kai finished, and then gave her little sister a wink. “I always knew you took after me.”


	16. Tal

Inside the castle walls, the maintenance crew tasked with nighttime repairs to the palace cast barely more than a cursory glance in Tal’s direction as she slipped in among their ranks. She fell into step at the back of the group, hiding in plain sight by taking up a position alongside the new labourers, the would-be apprentices and their industrial droids. With her usual practical choice of attire and the addition of her rappelling gear, she blended in seamlessly among the others. It was no surprise, really; new faces were likely quite common in such contracted crews, especially in a dirty job like this, which employed the most basic form of humanoid physical labour—hauling and handling rock, tile and masonry. To enhance the effectiveness of her ruse, Tal even joined in the ribald jests and hearty laughter the workers tossed about as they moved through the echoing corridors of the vast palace. Remaining too quiet among this bunch, she reasoned, was the surest way to draw attention to herself. 

The leaders of the maintenance crew hadn’t taken much notice of the newcomer either. An Areti female and a Samhari male, they had quickly worked their way to the fore of the group and begun to evaluate the tasks at hand with practiced efficiency—pointing out areas in need of repair, planning, and making suggestions as they wound their way through the vaulted corridors. Tal kept her eyes sharp as they moved, scanning the stone walls for side passages or hidden exits, biding her time in hopes of finding an opportunity to slip away unnoticed toward the southwestern tower where, according to her research, her father was likely being held. 

As the crew rounded a sharp bend that led them down another long, windowless corridor, Tal cast an assessing glance from one end of the hallway to the other, noting several narrow passages that branched off from the main hall. She slowed her pace, lagging toward the very back of the group, and then seized the chance to briskly side-step into a divergent corridor. Slipping into the shadows, she pressed herself against the wall and held her breath for a moment, listening to the voices of the stonemasonry crew as they receded further in the distance. 

Once she was certain that they were out of earshot, she moved forward down the passage, keeping one hand clasped around the dangling rings and clips of her harness to muffle their sound, and allowing her gut and her keen sense of direction to guide her. She ducked down a short side corridor, and then another, travelling in the direction she hoped would take her toward the tower.

As she walked, Tal glanced around, taking in the arching ceilings and the ornately carved bands of scrollwork adorning seemingly every surface. Her hand skated along a decorative, winding tendril of stone that rounded a tall column at the cessation of a narrow passage, and she couldn’t help but wonder at the amount of effort expended by the artisans that had originally built this place. Her attention riveted by the impressive architectural details, she had just barely advanced into the crossing when a red-haired youth dressed in fine livery and carrying a tall stack of folded linens strode directly across her path. 

“Make way!” he barked, passing so closely in front of Tal that her boot tip scuffed the polished side of his shoe. 

She froze mid-step and, as the servant threw a heated glare over his shoulder in her direction, she pivoted quickly on her heel to face the nearest column, putting on her best expression of professional scrutiny. Hoisting the strap of her pack on her shoulder, she relaxed into a casual hip-hitched stance and pretended to assess the surface of the spandrel adjoining the adjacent wall top the arch above her with a knowledgeable air befitting of her assumed profession. As she did so, she noted that the fixtures and stonework receding into the depths of the leftmost corridor seemed more simply made and less pretentious than those in the hall in which she stood. She cocked an ear, straining to listen to the faint sounds that emanated from that direction. At the same time, her keen sense of smell picked up the unmistakable, sourish yeast odor of rising bread dough. 

_ The kitchens _ , Tal thought. As if to confirm her suspicions, a pair of smartly dressed female servants carrying covered trays exited from the widest of the confluence of passages at the far end of the hallway and angled across the corridor toward another, narrower opening that echoed with the heavy, rhythmic sounds of footfalls on an unseen staircase beyond. Tal heard one of the women remark about the enviable ability of “her Royal Highness to retain her figure despite her affinity for rich midnight snacks. Her companion’s muffled response sent them both into fits of laughter before the tails of their coats disappeared from view, leaving the tantalizing smell of freshly baked bread in their wake.

That brief encounter had been another stroke of luck, Tal realized: if she recalled the floorplan correctly, the service corridors that fanned out in a complex network to all areas of the castle, including the southwestern tower, could be accessed from a central vestibule just beyond the kitchens. Inhaling the lingering scent, Tal’s mouth watered and her empty stomach gave a rumble of protest. In the hours since she’d departed from Telos, she’d had a stale ration bar, several cups of kaffe and a handful of forgotten Taberoot crisps left behind on the _Falcon_ , but nothing else. Her priority, of course, was to intercept her foolhardy sisters and avert a diplomatic catastrophe, but if the opportunity should arise to snag a bite of something tasty on the way….well, she wouldn’t pass it up. 

Still, strolling boldly into the kitchens was a risky move, and the last thing she needed was to be delayed by a curious scullery maid while her sisters were still at large. Tal chewed at the inside of her cheek, wondering how many servants would be retained to work at this late hour. Surely the kitchen would either be shut down or reduced to a skeleton staff soon, to give the lead cook or chef a rest…. 

_ Only one way to find out. _

Stepping out from the shadows, she slipped along the wall, making her silent way toward the kitchen. The main doors were open to the hallway, and even from a distance it appeared to be a vast and spacious room. From her angle, Tal could see at least one large window, its wooden shutters open to the cool night air, offering a glimpse of the darkened sky and a dimly lit portion of the middle ward beyond. As she inched along the corridor and more of the interior came into view, she could see a few servants, no more than three or four, moving around the various tables and prep counters in the completion of their duties. There was a low murmur of conversation just audible from where Tal stood, punctuated every now and then by a chuckle of laughter or a quiet cough. Then, just as she reached the doorway, she heard a sharp clatter of metal against stone coming from within the cavernous space, followed by a high-pitched cry from one of its occupants. The servants who had been working in Tal’s view suddenly halted, pivoting or turning their heads in the direction of the sound, which happened to take their attention away from the main entrance. 

Quickening her pace, Tal used the opportunity to slip through the doorway and make long strides toward the door on the far side, which would take her into the central vestibule beyond. While in transit, she caught sight of a white-aproned cook—a look of outraged astonishment on his flushed, plump face—engaged in a fierce tug-of-war with a hissing, striped Loth-cat. The hefty feline, a particularly brawny specimen, had its toothy jaws clamped tightly around a large chunk of raw meat and was presently digging its claws in and hauling on its prize with a series of powerful jerks, growling all the while. A few of the other servants abandoned their posts and rushed to offer assistance, laughing and exclaiming over the boldness of the half-wild creature, allowing Tal to pass behind them completely unnoticed. She kept moving toward her goal, raising an eyebrow in amusement at the scene, and pausing only to pluck a roll from the top of a pyramid of stacked buns left to cool on a wide wooden table beneath the open window to her left. 

As she passed through to the exit on the other side, she caught a strong odour of smoke floating in the air—an acrid smell not in keeping with the other, more pleasant fragrances wafting through the warm kitchen. She frowned, but before she could give it more thought, she saw out of the corner of her eye one of the workers swiveling in her direction. 

“ _ Oi!”  _ called a shrill female voice.  _ “Off with you!”  _

Tal’s feet skipped a step and her heart skipped a beat as she hastened towards the exit straight in front of her. She wasn’t about to hang around to find out for sure if that sharp directive had been issued to her, or if the voice had been addressing the furry bandit who was—judging by the piercing yowls and sounds of crockery tumbling and shattering on the stone floor—not intending to relinquish its prize without a fight. Tal gulped and willed her feet to keep taking her forward in a straight line, not daring to break stride.

_ Stay casual. Stay casual. _

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime but only amounted to a few tense seconds, she reached the far side of the kitchen. Finding the door leading to the hub of service corridors slightly ajar, she grasped the thick wooden edge to open it a bit further, and then recoiled in surprise as a tiny tornado of fur and fangs shot across her from the right, streaking like an orange turbo-laser between Tal’s body and the heavy door. With the fist-sized hunk of meat still clenched in its jaws, it leapt up onto the table Tal had just passed, toppling the neatly stacked pile of buns and knocking most of them on the floor, before launching itself like a rocket through the open window and disappearing into the night. Tal turned away from the spectacle, stifling a laugh, while behind her the staff flapped around, exclaiming over the intrusion and theft, consoling one another and bemoaning the loss of the next day’s royal lunch. As comical as it was, Tal couldn’t help but feel a tiny pang of sympathy as she slipped through the door and eased it shut behind her. She glanced down at the still-warm roll in her hand, shrugged, and took a hearty bite. At least she’d managed to nab this one before the lot was relegated to the bin—and it was delicious. 

Now finding herself standing in a spacious windowed foyer, she was faced with a challenge far greater than merely slipping past a handful of cooks and hall boys. Her original plan had been to identify the room where her father was being held and then stand guard near its entrance, intercepting her sisters before they got themselves caught and triggered an embarrassing confrontation—although what she was going to do once she intercepted them was still very much up in the air. It was one thing to slip unobtrusively into the castle grounds on her own, but slipping out again with three squabbling teenagers in tow was going to be another matter. Fleetingly, she considered whether they could find an empty storeroom somewhere and hole up for the night, and then drift out during the day when the castle was once again bustling with activity and other visitors, but then she gave herself a mental shake. There would be time enough to work out what to do with the three youngest Solos once she got her hands on them.

The trouble was, she had no idea which door to guard now, and she couldn’t very well linger in the central hub for much longer; kitchen workers or other castle staff could—and probably would—pass through the area at any moment, and unwanted questions might be asked about her presence and occupation. Standing with one fist planted on her hip, Tal munched her roll while she briefly weighed her options. For the second time in as many days, she found herself wishing for even a glimmer of Force sensitivity; such insight would certainly come in handy in working out which way to go. Any one of the several passages that terminated in this spacious vestibule could lead her to the correct tower, but she could just as easily pick the wrong one and find herself walking straight into a guard room. There were two portals—external doors, by their construction and markings—that evidently opened out to the middle ward, but they were situated on opposite sides of the room in which she stood, and she couldn’t watch them both unless she was prepared to linger in the open.

As her eyes flicked from one door to the next and back again, she caught the distinct smell of smoke once more. Stronger this time, it seemed to be emanating not from the kitchens as she’d first thought, but wafting in on the cool night air through the partially open window next to the rightmost external door. At the same time, Tal heard a faint rumbling in the distance, a sound she soon recognized as the heavy clamour of booted feet on rough-hewn stone. The noise grew steadily louder, and then was all but drowned out by the high-pitched sound of a warning klaxon sending out its urgent call from somewhere in the distance, followed by a blur of motion as uniformed guards began streaming from the surrounding corridors and stairwells. Tal froze in place as the first of the guards trotted into view; it was too late to hide, and any furtive action on her part would only draw unwanted attention, so after a nervous moment, she jammed the half-eaten roll into a jacket pocket, jingled her climbing gear over her shoulder, and proceeded to give a section of the carved stonework that framed the kitchen door a very close examination. The first guard ran straight past her as if she were invisible and headed out of the rightmost external door. No doubt owing to her clever disguise, the rest of the soldiers likewise trotted by within moments, without sparing Tal a second glance. When the last of the cohort had passed out of view, she heaved a sigh of relief and turned around. 

Knowing that her sisters were somewhere nearby, and recognising that the sudden frenzied rush of activity amongst the castle staff signified an event that was both unusual and alarming, she put the clues together and had to stifle a laugh. Setting something on fire was a brazen act that had Brin written all over it. The youngest Solo was forever cajoling Chewie into retelling exciting stories about his adventures with their parents and their Uncle Luke during the war, and the old Wookiee  _ did _ have a tendency to overindulge her avid interest in pyrotechnics and things that went  _ boom _ . Still, Tal had to concede that it was a perfect diversion, one that forced at least some of the guards on duty to abandon their posts in order to investigate. It also aided Tal in her quest as well. Carefully observing the sentries trotting past in response to the alarm, she noted that they’d filed in from every internal passageway except for one—the one positioned in the corner of the hub corridor in which she now stood. In the face of a potential threat, she knew that any guards on detention duty would be under strict orders to remain at their posts. The absence of activity coming from that particular doorway told Tal that it was likely the entrance to the tower where her father was being kept. And if her assumptions were correct, the girls would most likely be skirting the castle walls right now, angling to make their way into the corridor from one avenue or another, and then up the stairs of the tower to free the prisoner.

Still feeling that it was safer to intercept them in a more enclosed space where they were less likely to draw attention to themselves, Tal crossed to the tower door and pressed her ear against the rough wood. Hearing no sounds from within, she pulled it open a crack and peeped in, then ducked inside the dimly lit space and pulled it shut behind her. Turning, she stepped over to the foot of the winding stone stair and allowed her gaze to track up its curving length. The light from the foyer faded into inky darkness as the stairs curved out of sight overhead, lit only by a series of sconces staggered at intervals along the way. There was no sign of a guard—at least, not at this level. 

Quickly, she slipped the strap of her pack and the coil of rope from her shoulder, unbuckled her harness and then shrugged out her makeshift disguise, grateful for the continuing blare of the alarm that muffled the noisy clanking of its clips and carabiners. She hated leaving the equipment behind, but she wanted to assess the guard situation on the stairwell above before the girls arrived, and stealth was the key. Even if the alarms continued to sound, she needed to be quick, light on her feet, and silent. Besides, she needed both hands free in the event she needed to employ her backup plan—the pair of DL-11 blasters, still snug in their holsters, tucked up under her short leather jacket. Of course it wouldn’t be very  _ diplomatic _ of her to blast a hole through any Areti citizens who were merely doing their jobs, so the weapons were set to stun. But if she was forced to knock out a few guards to get her sisters clear of this mess without anyone knowing they’d been involved, she reckoned her mother would understand.

Moving cautiously, Tal crept up a few steps until she reached the first pool of darkness between sconces, just past the turn of the stair. The blare of the alarms below abruptly stopped, relieving the incessant, high pitched assault on her ears, but doing little to silence the alarm bells now ringing in her head. The stairwell was quiet— _ too _ quiet, in fact, heightening her keen senses and triggering warning signals that blared louder with every step. Under the circumstances, she would expect to hear at least a low murmur of conversation or the scuff of a boot heel against stone if there were any guards above, but there was nothing. She kept climbing and soon passed one half-landing and then another without a sign of a guard or security forces of any kind. Even knowing the relatively benign circumstances of her father’s incarceration, she had the creeping suspicion that something wasn’t right.

Slinking around the next corner, Tal saw two booted feet dangling over the edge of a step on the next landing and ducked quickly back out of sight, pressing her lips together to quiet the sound of her breathing. But then her brain caught up with what her eyes had just seen and she peeked around the curve of the stairwell again, this time staring for a longer moment. Bemused, she took in the sight of those booted soles, the toes turned slightly outward in a relaxed position that hinted that the person to whom they belonged was  _ very _ relaxed—perhaps asleep.

She frowned.

Straining to hear any sound from above that might indicate the presence of more guards, Tal instead heard the faint scrape of an iron latch and then a soft wooden creak from far below. She swivelled, biting her lip, and looked back down the way she’d come. Unless she missed her guess, her sisters had finally arrived. Either that, or she was about to get caught by an Areti guard, with nowhere on the open stairs to hide. Drawing one of her blasters, she thumbed the safety off as she reversed direction and began to make her way back down. Moving as swiftly and silently as she could, she kept her ears sharp for any further sounds that would tell her who had just entered. As she finally traversed the lowest half-landing, she blew out a soft breath of relief at the faint rasp of Kai’s distinctive, rich voice—so like their mother’s—which was soon followed by the somewhat brighter tones of Brin, and then a hissing rebuke from Serren, no doubt telling them both to pipe down. Tal felt her tense muscles relax as she stepped around the last curve of the stairs. Moving out of the shadows and into the amber light, she was fully conscious of the rather dramatic effect her sudden appearance would have on her siblings. 

“This is some rescue,” she intoned dryly as she leaned a casual shoulder against the curved wall and let her blaster dangle loosely from one hand. 

With a chorus of soft gasps, three heads swivelled in her direction, eyes flying wide and mouths dropping open. Tal hooked a thumb in her belt and waited. She knew the girls would instantly recognise the old quote; they’d all heard the story of their parents’ first meeting a million times—and their father’s version never failed to include a mention of their mother’s tart critique. Tal half expected one of her sisters to crack a joke now about her short stature. But the girls were evidently too stunned to respond; they simply gaped at their older sister in astonished silence. Tal couldn’t help it; she smirked. 

“I  _ told  _ you three to behave yourselves while I was gone,” she hissed, holstering her blaster as she descended another couple of steps. Stopping a few ranks from the bottom so as to maintain a slight height advantage, she spread her hands wide and gave her head a doleful shake. “Looks like that is a big fat  _ fail. _ ”

Under different circumstances, Tal thought wryly, the expressions of abject shock and consternation on the three young faces that looked up at her now would have been enormously amusing. At the moment, though, her main feeling was  _ relief _ at having managed to intercept them before they reached their father, and her overriding concern was to get them all out without attracting the notice of any Areti officials. If she had anything to say about it, the Solo sisters’ invasion of Galdoral Castle definitely would  _ not _ be making the galactic news.

The girls were still staring at her in stupefied silence, though, their mouths hanging open and eyes wide. Tal decided to direct her instructions to Serren—ordinarily the most responsible and mature of the three—and drew breath to start handing out orders. Before she could say a word, however, the youngest Solo sister finally found her voice.

“Some Jedi knights  _ you’d _ be,” Brin said in a tone of great indignation, angling around towards the twins. Her blue eyes roamed accusingly from Kai to Serren and then back again, her expression growing more baffled and disgusted by the moment. “Didn’t you even  _ sense _ her?”

“Save it,” Tal interjected before either one of the twins could retort. “You three are in big trouble already,” she observed, straining to keep her voice low while still projecting stern disapproval. She fixed each girl in turn with a pointed glare. “Don’t make it any worse by getting us caught.” 

Ordinarily she wouldn’t be the type to bark orders or boss people around—that was more Breha’s style. Tal was the easygoing one of the bunch, or so she liked to think. But if they were going to get out of this predicament without disgracing their mother and causing a serious setback to the New Republic’s diplomatic agenda in the region, she needed to command her sisters’ full cooperation and do it quickly. All three sets of eyes blinked up at Tal now, as if waiting for her to take charge; but instead of chagrin or embarrassment, or even sullen anger, all she could see in their faces was.. _.fear? _

Tal blinked, nonplussed, and let her eyes roam from face to face. Underneath the surprise and confusion at her unexpected appearance, the three girls looked genuinely  _ afraid _ . Some intuition made Tal turn her head and glance back up the winding stair, remembering the sight of those sleeping feet. Icy fingers of dread began to crawl up her spine. She looked back at her siblings. 

“ _ What? _ ” she prompted, feeling her stomach tighten. “What is it?”

They all tried to speak at once then; low, urgent voices overlapping in a confused rush that swiftly swelled in volume as the three younger girls surged forward and up the few steps that separated them, crowding around Tal and prompting her to shush them all with a fierce scowl and frantic hand gestures.

“ _ Ssh! _ One at a time, kids.” She spared a moment to lean down and give Brin a quick, one-armed hug of encouragement. Despite her tart comments to the twins, the youngest Solo looked a little shell-shocked, as though she’d gotten rather more than she’d bargained for in this heroic endeavour. Tal smiled down at her baby sister, glad of her own present position on a higher step—there was something so undignified about looking  _ up _ at a fourteen-year-old kid— and gave Brin’s shoulder another reassuring pat. 

“There’s a guard about halfway up there,” she said with an upward jerk of her chin, “who may or may not be sleeping. Let’s not find out, huh? Now, Serren,” she said, dropping her arm and swivelling slightly to face her most sensible sister. “Fill me in.” 

Serren drew in a breath and expelled it. “Dad’s in danger, Tal,” she said, her voice thready and strained. “ _ Real _ danger—”

Exasperated, Tal shook her head and waved one hand to cut her sister off. “No, he’s  _ not _ ,” she said, with as much patience as she could muster. “You’ve got it all wrong. He’s perfectly safe. This is a diplomatic matter, and Chewie’s already gone to get Mom from Dubrillion to deal with it. You three are endangering her mission in this sector and—” 

“There’s an  _ assassin _ ,” Serren interjected, and there was a quaver in her voice that sharply arrested Tal’s momentum.

She quirked a skeptical eyebrow upward in silent challenge, but Serren held her gaze unwaveringly, her deep brown eyes wide with fear. A quick glance at the other two made all of Tal’s muscles tighten with uneasy tension. Once again, she thought of the sleeping guard sprawled on the landing high above. She looked back at Serren. 

“Spill.” 

The tale tumbled out of Serren then in a shaky rush: a clandestine meeting in a sea cave under the castle rock, a furtive exchange of credits, and the mention of their father’s name. Tal listened with rapt attention, transfixed by the serious look on Serren’s face as she quickly detailed the snippets of conversation they’d overheard. 

“He  _ said _ that? He said ‘if you wish Solo eliminated’?” Tal asked. “Are you sure?  _ Those words exactly _ ?” 

“Those words exactly,” Serren affirmed, nervously glancing up the stairwell as if anxious to be on the move. 

Kai leaned in, her expression for once as solemn and serious as her twin’s as she fixed her eyes on Tal’s face. “We’re not foolin’ around here, Tal, and you’re holding us up. We need to get to dad before the killer does.” 

Tal’s stomach dropped, thinking again of those turned-out toes on the landing high above. She drew her blaster once more and thumbed the safety off. “We may be too late,” she said grimly, and then shook her head to forestall the questions she could see forming on their anxious faces. “No time to discuss it,” she snapped. “Come on. Serren, Brin, follow me, and stay close. Kai—”.

“Rear guard,” Kai interjected with a nod. “Gotcha.” 

With Serren and Brin following closely at her heels, Tal led the way up the stairs. Kai lagged a few steps behind the rest, her eyes darting into the shadows to the rear at the same time as she kept a watchful eye on the way forward. Tal wasn’t worried now about being quiet; with the passing of every second, she became more and more convinced that the guard whose boots she’d glimpsed wasn’t sleeping at all. When they reached the curve of the stairs and those still-motionless feet came into sight once more, she felt her stomach plunge and her heart trip into overdrive. She advanced cautiously up the last few steps, and made her way to the sprawled figure. Crouching at his side, she pressed her fingers to his throat and was strangely relieved to feel a slow and thready pulse palpable beneath her fingers. She glanced upward and peered off into the shadows ahead, seeing nothing but more stairs suffused in wavering orange light and curving into the darkness up and out of sight. She straightened, the strong sense of trepidation that had plagued her all the way from Telos ratcheting up yet another notch. 

From behind, she heard a sharp intake of breath from one twin and a soft cry of alarm from the other. She turned to see that Serren had halted on the stairs just below her, and a glance at Kai, a few steps lower, showed that she had likewise frozen in place, mid-step and with one hand splayed on the curved wall. Their stiff postures and the far-away looks on their faces was at once familiar and disquieting; although Tal had grown up surrounded by Force-sensitive people, she still found their reliance on that mysterious dimension a little unsettling. For a long moment, the twins’ sightless eyes remained fixed and staring away at nothing—at least, nothing that Tal nor Brin had the ability to see. 

“What?” she prompted. “Serren,  _ what is it? _ ” 

“It’s Dad,” she breathed. “He’s...he’s—Oh gods….”

The jittery feeling Tal had harboured from the outset shifted abruptly into stark, cold fear. The unconscious guard at her feet, a contract allegedly taken out on her father’s life...and now—

“We need to stop thinkin’ and start  _ movin’ _ ,” Kai interjected. “ _ Now.” _

Tal didn’t need to hear any more; the twins’ connection to their father through the Force provided irrefutable proof that he was indeed in danger, and not merely from the Areti queen’s plan to secure him as a consort. Although Tal knew her mother wouldn’t endorse the course of action they were about to undertake, she also knew that the time for caution, political correctness and protocol was  _ over _ . With their mother still hours away, it was up to Tal and her sisters to intervene, or else risk the unthinkable. 

For a split-second she considered ordering Brin to stay behind, just in case, but then thought better of it. Whoever was threatening their father’s life was soon going to discover that if they wanted to get at Han Solo, they were going to have to go through his daughters first—and even the baby of the family looked like she was ready to take on a deadly assassin, for her father’s sake. 

“Alright, to hell with diplomacy, I guess,” Tal muttered under her breath, and then gave a jerk of her head towards the stairs above. “C’mon, girls. Let’s go.” 


	17. Han

Han jolted awake, coming to full consciousness with a jerk and a sharp intake of breath. For a moment, his sleep-addled brain struggled to recall exactly where he was, but awareness dawned as his bleary gaze took in the flickering flame in the massive stone fireplace and the half-eaten meal on the low table that sat in front, and then angled downward to rest on his fingers, loosely curled around a squat crystal tumbler cradled in his lap.

With nothing else to occupy his time, he’d kicked off his boots beside the hearth, grabbed a drink and settled back into the chair with his stockinged feet stretched out before the fire. The small amount of a particularly potent after-dinner liqueur he’d imbibed and the pleasant warmth of the crackling fire—together with the numbing effects of sheer boredom—had combined to send him dozing off in the comfortable chair. Those circumstances had evoked some very life-like dreams as well. One of them had been especially vivid; so real that he could have sworn he heard Serren’s voice whispering in his ear, as clearly as if she’d been right there beside him.

_ Be on your guard, Dad. _

Scrubbing his free hand over his face, Han groaned and shifted in the deep chair. He flexed his stiffened limbs and rocked his head from side to side to work out the kinks in his spine, and then leaned forward and set the heavy tumbler on the tabletop. As he did so, his sharp ears picked up a faint noise, a scuffing that sounded like the muted scrape of a booted foot on rough-hewn stone. His first dismissive thought was that it was merely the guard stationed outside the door, but then his drowsy brain caught up and triangulated the sound—and he realised with an inner jolt that it had come from somewhere inside the room.

He froze, hairs prickling at the back of his neck. Holding his breath for a long moment, he strained to pick up any additional sounds emanating from behind him. The room was utterly silent, except for the faint crackling of the dying fire, but then he sensed something else: not a noise, exactly, but a whisper of a breeze from behind, a brief but perceptible flutter of movement like the stirring of air in the wake of a heavy cloak.  

In an instant, his well-honed spacer’s reflexes kicked in and Han was on his feet. In a powerful surge of adrenaline, he whirled around to face the danger, even as he yanked the knuckleblade from the sheath at the small of his back and automatically slipped his fingers through the loops. Adopting a wide stance, he held the vibroblade at the ready as he scanned the shadowy perimeter of the vast room from one corner to the next in all directions—but there was nothing there; just a pair of empty chairs and an empty bed, and perfect silence once more, save for the crackling of the fire. 

He chuckled wryly to himself and gave his head a shake.  _ This place is getting to you _ , he thought, slowly relaxing the tensed fingers of his knife hand.  _ Got you jumping at shadows. Next thing you know you’ll be— _

His thought was cut off at the same time as his breath. His free hand flew to his suddenly-constricted throat, clutching at a length of strong cord that was held taut against his windpipe, drawing him back against a cold wall of solid muscle. Unthinking and quick as a flash, Han flicked on the vibroblade in his right hand and plunged it downward and back, angling slightly behind his own hip to make contact with his assailant’s body. There was a sizzling  _ zap  _ as the blade pierced cloth, leather and flesh, and then the creature jerked away with a growl, releasing its hold on the garrotte and giving Han the opening he needed to vault clear and whirl around again. Before he could complete his turn the creature was upon him once more, moving with lightning speed to slap the vibroblade from his hand. Han lunged in a futile attempt to retrieve it, but the weapon hit the stone floor and clattered away into the shadows. In that moment of distraction the attacker surged past him in a blinding blur, faster than Han could follow, and then he found himself hauled by the neck, jerked almost off his feet, as the determined killer whipped the garrotte around his throat once more. 

Reflexively, he snapped his left arm downward in a motion designed to trigger the release of the holdout blaster strapped to his forearm, fully expecting the tiny weapon to drop into his waiting palm. To his horror, nothing happened. Straining against the pressure on his throat, he tried again and got the same results, and then was forced to redirect his attention to the rough cord tightening inexorably around his neck. The garrotte bit deeply into his skin, and his blunt nails scraped and dug into his own flesh as he tried in vain to work his fingers underneath the constricting band to pull it away. His struggling seemed to anger the creature even more. He heard the hiss and smelled the fetid, animal scent of its breath across his cheek as it intensified its powerful grip and pulled the cord marginally tighter. Han clawed frantically at the creature’s hands, and then batted wildly over his own head in a futile attempt to make contact with his attacker’s face. 

Realizing that his assailant had him in a position from which he could not battle his way free, he quelled his panic just enough to focus his efforts on the holdout blaster once more, fumbling blindly at his shirtsleeve as he dragged in shallow gasps of precious air .  With pinpoints of light bursting in his quickly darkening vision, he’d just managed to pop the manual release when he heard his attacker give a sharp curse, apparently realizing Han’s intent. The assailant dropped the garrotte and grappled with him a second time, its long, leather-clad fingers finally succeeding in wrenching the tiny single-shot weapon from the Corellian’s faltering grasp. Suddenly free of the killer’s iron grip and with the pressure on his throat relieved, Han drew a deep breath and then in a burst of frenetic motion launched himself away from his attacker, stumbling over one of the fireside chairs in his haste. He lost his balance and sprawled in a heap on the floor, and then stumbled just as quickly to his feet and whirled around, panting for breath as he got his first clear look at the would-be assassin. 

The hulking figure stood at least a head taller than Han. A heavy black cloak concealed its figure and all of its features, except for a pair of gleaming yellow eyes that peered out from beneath a shapeless hood. Although Han was certain his vibroblade had struck its target, the creature showed no signs of injury or even discomfort, and its dark clothing made it impossible to spot any telltale blood.

“Who are you?” Han managed to croak between coughing spasms. “What do you want?” He gasped the questions more in hopes of stalling the attacker while he caught his breath than in expectation that the creature would answer. It was perfectly obvious that it wanted him dead. 

The being emitted a wet, gurgling, and altogether unpleasant sound that Han belatedly identified as a mirthless laugh, and then it tossed the confiscated blaster aside with a scoff, as if it were a child’s plaything. Despite its formidable size, it barely made a sound as it moved forward to close the gap between itself and its prey, gliding with eerie, silent grace.

Han held up his hands in a placating gesture and retreated a few steps as the being advanced. “Now hang on a second, pal,” he stammered, hoping to keep the assailant engaged for a moment longer—long enough for his racing mind to come up with a plan that would keep him alive. “Whatever you want, I’m sure we can work something ou—”

The assassin surged forward then and, even with reflexes that were still fairly quick, Han barely managed to duck swiftly enough to escape its lunging reach. He pivoted hastily and backed up towards the centre of the room, where he figured he would stand at least a fighting chance of outmaneuvering the creature in hand-to-hand combat. He tried to size up his opponent then, swiftly noting its most prominent physical characteristics and searching his mental catalogue of galactic species for a match, desperate to uncover some weakness, or some unique vulnerability to give him the upper hand. But though he scoured the deepest corners of his memory, he came up empty. 

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, he had finally decided that his best strategy was probably retreat—simply dodging for the door and trying to flee down the stairs and shout for help—when the attacker lunged again and took that option off the table. This time Han felt its long, leather-clad fingers graze his shoulder before he was able to leap out of its path and whirl around, maintaining the gap between them. Breathing hard, he circled in a wide arc around his assailant, his frantic gaze scanning the room for anything within his immediate reach he could use to defend himself. His only other true weapon—his second vibroblade—was well out of range, tucked into one of the boots that lay in a heap beside the hearth where he’d cast them off earlier in the evening. It was a long shot. The creature was standing between him and the sitting area, there was no clear path, and there was a good chance the creature would overtake him before he ever made it that far, but he had to try. 

He took a half-step backward, and then bluffed a quick dodge to his left. His assailant took the bait, allowing Han the precious seconds he needed to double back and make a running dive for the hearth. But he’d underestimated the being’s extraordinary speed; by the time he’d scooped up the boot, unsheathed the blade and turned to strike, it was upon him once more, slamming into him with enough force to knock him off his feet. The blade jolted from his hand and clattered to the stone floor, and Han landed heavily on his back with his attacker’s considerable bulk right on top of him, the weight of the impact forcing all the air out of his lungs in a rush. The creature quickly overcame him then, straddling his body and pinning him to the floor, and then its powerful hands wrapped around Han’s throat. 

Struggling to break free from the creature’s choking grip, kicking and flailing in a vain attempt to turn the tables, Han clawed at its gloved hands and pounded his fists on every part of its body that he could reach—but it was no use. The leathery grip was as solid and unbreakable as durasteel, and the more Han struggled, the more intense the constricting pressure around his throat became. His strained heart pumped wildly and he struggled to breathe, staring up with scarlet-tinged vision at the hot amber eyes that bore into his from underneath that dark hood. Darkness clouded his sight and he began to feel light-headed.

_ So this was it. _

After all these years, after skirting the edge of the abyss more times that he could count and managing, always, to survive against the odds— _ this  _ was how it felt to die. 

Han wanted to keep fighting for his life. It wasn’t in his nature to give up, no matter how badly the odds were stacked against him, and he was doing his best to tear the creature’s leathery fingers from his neck—but he was also aware that fatigue was creeping in, sapping his strength. His vision slowly began to fade from red to black, and his fingers weakened in their frantic scrabbling at the creature’s gloved hands around his throat. Thoughts of his family flickered through his mind. Naturally, his wife and kids were uppermost in his thoughts and in those last, frantic seconds of life he was overwhelmed by a flood of memories, virtually every precious moment he’d ever spent with them from the most exhilarating to the most mundane. He clung to those thoughts as sanctuary from the terror of his own impending demise, pushing everything else out of his consciousness and focusing only on those distant treasures. There had been many times over the years that Leia had reached out to him through the Force, linking her mind to his with a fine tether through that mysterious dimension. Han hoped that this could be one of those times—not that he’d want her to sense his pain or to have any sort of awareness of his horrible end. But at the moment he drew his last breath, Han wanted her to know how much he loved her, and how grateful he was for their children and for the happy life they’d made together. 

His weakened muscles finally betrayed him, and his arms fell slack and heavy to the floor. As his consciousness ebbed Han became aware that his right hand had fallen upon something that wasn’t the cold, pitted surface of the stone floor. Slowly, his oxygen-starved brain made the connection. With his last shred of conscious thought, he slackened every muscle and willed his body to go completely limp.

Perhaps certain then that his victim had breathed his last, the assassin’s hold loosened slightly, allowing Han to drag in a single, rasping breath. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to give him one more shot. As the hulking figure realised its mistake, hissed a muted curse and tightened its grip once more, Han willed his brain to send out a signal to his depleted muscles. Summoning every last drop of energy, he activated the blade and swung it with as much force as he could muster, succeeding in driving it deeply into the creature’s forearm. It relinquished its grip with an inhuman howl and jerked back, and Han used its momentary distraction and all of his adrenaline-fuelled strength to throw it off, heaving his body into a sideways roll and scrambling away. 

Wheezing to regain his stolen breath, Han staggered to his feet and turned just in time to see the creature pluck the blade from its arm. It appeared to study the weapon for an instant, observing the blue-green streaks of blood on the gleaming surface as if it couldn’t quite believe it was its own, as if an opponent striking a second blow against it was unfathomable. Then it tossed the blade aside with an ominous, alien growl, and lifted its piercing amber eyes—narrowed now to menacing slits—to focus on Han. Keeping its yellow stare locked on him, the creature took one step forward, and then another, advancing across the rough stone with the same silent ease that Han had noted before, the eerie grace that belied its imposing size and made it seem, somehow, all the more intimidating. 

Still struggling to breathe past the painful swelling in his throat, Han realized two critical truths. He couldn’t outrun this being, nor could he outmaneuver it—but there was still a chance he could outsmart it. Stumbling around the edge of the wide bed, Han angled toward the barred window on the other side and put the massive canopied bed between himself and his attacker. 

As the being drew nearer, Han scanned the room for anything usable as a weapon. His eyes fell upon something he’d overlooked earlier—the rack of fireplace tools that stood beside the hearth. His tactical mind immediately took over, calculating the distance, the optimal angle of approach and his own anticipated velocity. It was an even greater gamble than the boot before it but, at this point, he had nothing left to lose. 

He watched the creature glide toward him with its hooded head slung low, and waited until it was almost close enough for those long arms to make a grab—and then, in one smooth motion, pivoted, planted one booted foot on the raised platform and pushed off hard, tumbling into a double shoulder roll over the top of the bed and landing on his feet on the other side. Without a backward glance, he vaulted toward the hearth. As he sprinted by the leading edge of the mantel, he caught a flash out of the corner of his eye, a fleeting glimpse of a metallic glint from within a shadowy pool of half-light cast by one of the room’s wall sconces, which his racing brain hastily identified as the tiny holdout blaster the assassin had taken from him and then discarded. He pulled up short, made an abrupt, skidding turn, and then launched himself into a sprawling dive for the weapon.

But the change in direction cost him precious seconds in lost momentum, and he knew in an instant that he’d made the wrong play. Even as his fingers closed around the grip of the tiny blaster, he could feel, with all of his senses heightened by the imminent threat to his life, the push of air that preceded his attacker’s rush at his back. Once again he’d underestimated how kriffing  _ fast  _ the creature was, and now there was zero room for error. The weapon only carried a single charge, which meant he had one chance to pull off a debilitating shot. Snatching the weapon, he rolled onto his back, threw his arm down straight in front of his body and fired along the length of himself at the onrushing attacker—

—and  _ missed _ . 

The shot went just a centim wide of the mark, singing the edge of the dark cowl as it zipped past the creature’s head and then gouging the stone wall behind in a shower of dust and rubble. 

The vile Corellian obscenity that erupted from Han’s mouth then was abruptly cut off by the shock of the creature’s right hand, descending side-on and quick as a snap, landing hard against his windpipe in a vicious chop. Stunned, and only vaguely aware of the strangled whine coming from his own throat, Han dropped the spent weapon and keeled over to one side, throwing one arm wide in a vain attempt to grab onto something as he fell prone to the floor. As he struggled to draw breath, he became aware that his assailant had dropped down to one knee beside him. Han could barely see, but he could nevertheless  _ sense  _ its ominous presence as it leaned in close, the stench of its rancid breath mingling with the acrid odour from the burned edge of its hood. Then, helpless to stop it, Han felt one of the assassin’s leather-clad hands on his head, gathering his hair into a tight fist and then roughly jerking his head up from the floor to meet its calculating amber stare. Though his vision was still little more than a spangled haze, Han saw it tilt its head and heard it make a sound—a thick, gruesome sound somewhere between a curious hum and a satisfied snarl—before it released its hold with a rough, dismissive shove, rose to its feet once more and glided out of view. 

Han dragged in another painful breath. The stark reality that he was a dead man if he didn’t move lanced through the fog of pain and sent him scrambling onto hands and knees once more, trying to summon the surge of strength required to regain his footing. Before he could straighten, though, the attacker returned and, an instant later, whipped the garrotte around his throat for a third time, now radiating a sense of determination so fierce it was almost palpable. 

This time around, though, it was the creature’s turn to curse. A string of vicious-sounding alien epithets issued from the assailant’s cowl as it realized that Han had managed at the last instant to throw one hand up to his own throat—a hand that was now trapped between the garrotte and the skin of Han’s neck. It was a basic strategy, but an effective one; although the cord cut painfully into Han’s fingers, the presence of his hand disrupted the distribution of pressure and prevented the cord from doing its job. Above his head, the creature hissed and spat in its native tongue, clearly unaccustomed to prey that steadfastly refused to die a quick death. 

It might not be a  _ quick  _ death, Han thought ruefully, but considering his present condition—injured, exhausted and almost out of options—it seemed an inevitable one. Twenty years ago,  _ ten  _ even, he would never have been overcome so easily, and he certainly would never have missed that a shot at point-blank range. He fought to keep up his resistance to the cord with one hand and blindly groped around on the ground beside him with the other, while his attacker grunted and pressed a bony knee into Han’s back and strained backwards, doubling the pressure of the garrotte in an apparent attempt to break their present impasse. 

Chest heaving like a bellows, Han’s frantic eyes flicked sideways to the rack of fireplace tools he could see just on the periphery of his vision. Even as he continued to struggle for survival, his whole body flooded with the sudden, cold certainty that he was going to die. Try as he might, there was no way he was going to get out of this alive. The door opposite his position was only a few meters away, but it may as well have been on Tatooine for all the chance he stood of reaching it—hell, he wouldn’t even get as far as the hearth, even if he could miraculously break free of his attacker’s grip at this point. 

He thought again of Leia and their daughters, and felt a powerful pang of grief and regret—for leaving them so soon, and for all of the milestones that he would miss. The realisation that he wouldn't be there for his kids when they needed him, neither to celebrate their achievements nor to console them in their disappointments, was the worst feeling of all. It hit him like a physical punch, even more painful than the cord tightening around his throat. Then, as if conjured by his fervent wish to see his distant family one last time, their beloved faces seemed to swim into view. 

One image, in particular, was quite clear. 

Through watering eyes and a haze of pain Han saw the pale, heart-shaped face and then the slim, distinctive outline of Tal, his second-born child—so very like Leia in shape and stature, but looking more like a pint-sized version of Han himself with her dark auburn hair cropped short, her hazel eyes flashing, and a deadly-looking blaster gripped tightly in each extended hand. 

Wait.

_ Blasters? _

Han squinted and strained to focus, more than a little confused by his brain’s choice of detail in a dying vision, and then he gasped as the cord around his throat suddenly slackened a notch. The assailant at his back still held the garrotte taut in both hands and a hard knee was still pressed against Han’s spine, but it was clear that something else had momentarily diverted the creature’s attention. 

And that  _ something else _ , to Han’s profound astonishment, seemed to be his twenty-year-old daughter.

Before he could fully wrap his mind around what he was seeing, the assassin abruptly released him and then leaped clear, just as the distinctive  _ zzzppt zzzppt _ of double blaster bolts flew over Han’s head. Acting on reflex, Han fell forward onto both hands to get below the line of fire, welcoming the tangible, grounding scrape of the rough stone beneath his palms and gasping like a landed fish as he tried to get his bearings. He lifted his head and stared in the direction of the door in disbelief, blinking rapidly to clear his bleary vision—and found, to his utter amazement, that the illusion of Tal’s presence was definitely not an illusion at all. She was  _ there,  _ in the flesh, and she was firing her blasters again over Han’s head, clearly tracking his erstwhile assailant and smoothly squeezing off shots just like he’d taught her. Dragging in deep gulps of air through his swollen and burning throat, Han cast a quick glance over one shoulder, and watched through still-hazy eyes as the cloaked figure, now on the opposite side of the room and facing Tal with a wary but sure-footed stance, managed to dodge every blast, nimbly sidestepping with a preternatural speed that made all of its earlier movements seem like slow-motion. As it ducked and weaved to avoid the streaking red bolts in a blur of rapid motion, Han could hear it  _ laugh _ —that same wet, gurgling sound he’d belatedly identified as its sound of amusement—although this time its mirth seemed tinged with more than a little frustration and disbelief. 

Tal was ordinarily a good shot, and the room wasn’t all that big, but the creature’s uncanny abilities seemed to give it an edge in dodging her bolts. The crimson streaks sizzled past the dark figure time after time, each blast hitting the wall behind the alien’s erstwhile location, leaving nothing but scorched stonework and shattered ornaments behind. Han realized then that, although he was in a far better position now that he had a little backup, they hadn’t yet hit open space. The assassin would soon realize that it was trapped; the window at its back was barred, which meant that the only way out was through the open door, and Tal was still standing right in front of it, foursquare and blasters blazing. Han had a sudden, horrifying vision of the creature, finding itself desperate to escape, vaulting past him and tackling his diminutive daughter instead. The thought of that grim possibility made his blood run cold—and he was not about to wait around and let it happen. Lurching to his feet and taking care to stay out of Tal’s line of fire, he’d taken a couple of staggering steps in the direction of the fireplace when he saw the most astonishing sight of all: the cloaked figure rising suddenly into the air, its long limbs flailing as its booted feet suddenly lost contact with the stone floor. 

Whirling, Han looked back at Tal and was stunned to see that she’d been joined by two more of his daughters. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as Serren and Kai edged their way through the doorway at their sister’s back and moved into flanking position on either side of her, each girl with a hand extended in the assailant’s direction. Han made a choked sound of disbelief, but the twins didn’t even look in his direction; all of their attention was focused on the would-be assassin instead. Han knew at a glance that they were using their nascent Jedi skills to keep the creature aloft. Eyes fixed on their target, the teenagers advanced in unison, each keeping an open palm extended towards the alien attacker in a gesture Han had seen both Luke and Leia use when channeling the Force to manipulate objects from afar. He gave a triumphant shout of laughter that sent him into another coughing fit as he angled around so that he could watch the girls in action while still keeping his erstwhile attacker in sight. Looking on in unabashed admiration, he watched as they levitated the creature even higher, their young faces grimacing with the effort of concentration required to keep the figure suspended in mid-air. The creature emitted hoarse grunts as it twisted and writhed in a desperate attempt to free itself, but the girls held its body fast in an invisible, inescapable grip. 

_ “Tal!  _ What are you waiting for?  _ Blast him!” _

At the sound of that familiar young voice, Han’s eyes darted back toward the open door and he was astonished to see that the three girls had been joined by yet another of his progeny. Brin had squeezed through the gap and now stood at Tal’s side with her fists planted on her hips, head tilted back just enough to allow her to glare down her nose at her sister, as if she were annoyed that Tal hadn’t already done the most obvious, necessary thing. Han realized then that Tal must have been as taken aback as he at the scene playing out before them, and had stopped firing the moment her sisters had employed their abilities and taken matters into their own virtual hands. Now spurred back into action, Tal’s eyes found her father’s over the top of Brin’s tousled head. She cocked an eyebrow at him and gestured one blaster at the flailing creature in a wry, wordless query.

Han grinned at her cool nonchalance—she’d definitely inherited that from him, he decided. He was just poised to respond with an eloquent gesture of his own when Brin’s voice called out in warning. 

_ “Dad! Watch out!” _

Han’s focus whipped back toward the dangling creature just in time to see it withdraw one long hand from within the folds of its swirling cloak. In its leather-clad fingers it held what Han recognized with a jolt of alarm as a compact concussion grenade. Thumbing the activation switch, it then drew back its arm, poised to launch the device in the direction of the twins. The powerful drive to protect his children struck Han in a blinding wave of rage and fear, and in a rush of adrenaline he surged forward, instinctively placing himself between the assassin and his daughters. 

All at once, Han was surrounded by a rapid and confusing blur of frenzied movement. Tal lunged to one side and took a shot that would have been a perfect hit—had the creature not been suddenly spun about in mid-air and flung hard against the far wall in the same instant that she fired. Han watched in amazement as the grenade was wrenched by an invisible force from the assassin's grasp, even as its flailing body flew through the air in the opposite direction, hurled away by the combined efforts of the twins to the farthest corner of the room. Seemingly stunned by the force of the impact and the subsequent fall, the creature slumped heavily to the floor and remained still. While Kai continued to channel her energy around its motionless form, Serren turned her attention to the deadly weapon that had clattered to the floor. Before she could take action, though, Brin shoved past everyone and leaped forward, sprinting toward the still-active grenade.

“On it!” she called out, sounding almost gleeful. 

Seeing his youngest child rushing toward a live explosive turned Han’s reeling shock into stark panic. 

“Brin, no!” he bellowed, and lunged in a futile attempt to grab her back. 

With his reflexes greatly slowed by his recent ordeal, his fingers closed on empty air and his own momentum threw him off-balance. He staggered forward a few steps, but then stopped as Brin skidded to a halt near the grenade, simultaneously diving a hand down into one of her pockets and coming up with a small, cylindrical object. She threw a narrow look over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. 

“ _ Dad _ ,” she drawled. “I got this.”

Han cast a wild, terrified glance at Tal and then Serren who, standing by with an outstretched hand as if ready to cast a protective circle around her younger sister, returned her father’s worried look with a fond shake of her head. 

_ Trust her, _ Serren’s expression said.  _ She’s got this. _

With her arm extended in the direction of the grenade that had just come to a rolling stop on the floor, Brin calmly triggered the device in her hand. It immediately began to emit an audible hum, which changed in pitch a couple of times before settling into a low, pulsing drone. 

_ A field disruptor, _ Han realized with a start. No wonder Brin had been so confident. Although it wasn’t the device’s original intended purpose, its operation would nevertheless send out signals that would scramble the grenade’s destruct sequence, shutting it down and rendering it useless. Han had the fleeting thought that, when all of this was behind them, he would need to have a chat with his youngest daughter about how she’d managed to get her hands on that powerful—and ostensibly  _ illegal _ —device, and where she’d learned about its alternative applications.  

Within seconds, the grenade’s warning indicator stopped flashing, and Brin took a step forward to prod the disabled weapon with the toe of her boot. She looked back at her father with a smug smile.

“See?” she said, gesturing. “Nothing to it.”

“Good job, kid,” Han grinned, heaving a deep sigh of relief. 

“Uh, guys? I could use a little help over here.”

Kai’s strained voice turned Han’s attention back to her, and he saw with a new jolt of dread that the powerful alien hadn’t remained disabled for long. It was now struggling to its feet, and without Serren’s support, Kai’s incipient abilities alone weren’t enough to keep it subdued. Her control over it was faltering, and seemed to be growing weaker by the second. 

Serren stepped forward to aid her sister, but Tal was faster. Quick as a flash, she aimed and fired a blast that caught the creature just below the shoulder. Stunned but not incapacitated, it roared in pain and staggered forward, clutching the affected arm. Tal advanced a few steps to close the gap, lined up her shot with the centre of its chest, and fired two more rapid bursts. The creature dropped to its knees and then collapsed, limp and unconscious, to the floor.  

Kai slumped forward, her shoulders sagging, and Han heard her release a heavy, exasperated breath. “Well, it’s about damn time, Tal,” she groused. “What good are blasters if you can’t  _ hit  _ anything?”

“Did you see how kriffing fast that thing was?” Tal countered, her voice rising in indignation. “And then you guys barged in with your—” she paused and made a circling motion at her temple with one of her blasters, “—your  _ thing _ , and I didn’t have a chance.”

“Our  _ thing  _ saved your ass from being blasted by a grenade,” Kai said pointedly. 

“ _ Nuh-uh _ , you’re not taking all the credit for that,” Brin objected, fixing her sisters with a corrective scowl. “That was mostly me.” 

“She’s got you there, Kai,” Serren agreed mildly. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t even get a chance to blow anything up,” Brin complained. “Is it too much to ask? It’s the only thing I wanted—”. 

The other girls erupted in overlapping exclamations and laughter then as they fell to teasing their baby sister about her apparent fixation with explosives. 

A slow smile stretched over Han’s face as his gaze travelled from one to the other of his chattering girls. He shook his head in amazed disbelief. Clearing his throat loudly, he winced at the stab of pain that action caused, and then watched as four pairs of eyes simultaneously turned in his direction. He beamed his biggest, proudest smile at them, and then spread his arms wide. 

Brin didn’t hesitate; by the time her older sisters had fallen silent and turned wondering glances toward their father, she had already shoved past them and made a beeline in his direction, plowing into Han’s midsection in a blur of curly, russet locks. He let out an involuntary  _ whomph _ at the shock of the impact, and then closed his arms around her in turn, lowering his head to drop a kiss onto the top of her auburn head. Sniffling, she buried her nose into his shirt for a moment before lifting her head, and as her blue eyes met his, he could see that they were glistening with unshed tears. Han’s throat tightened in way that had nothing to do with near-asphyxiation, and he gave his youngest daughter a reassuring smile before ruffling her hair and pressing another quick kiss to her temple.  

Han lifted his head just in time for the second wave. Kai rushed toward him like a bolt of energy, leaping forward to throw her arms around both him and Brin, and Serren followed close on her heels. With his body still feeling the lingering effects of oxygen deprivation, Han wheezed a bit from the constricting pressure of their enthusiastic embraces. Despite his best efforts to remain stoic, he couldn’t hold back the strained whimper that escaped him. 

Serren pulled back first, arching her head to look at the angry red abrasion around Han’s neck with a look of concern. 

“Oh, Dad,” she said in a tone of deep dismay. “If only we’d gotten here faster...” 

Han held up a forestalling hand. “It’s okay, kiddo. You girls—”.

Serren gasped and reached out to grab her father’s arm, twisting it around to get a better look at the jagged gash in his palm that was smeared and still oozing with blood. Then she turned to Kai who, upon hearing her sister’s yelp of concern, had also taken a step back to investigate. 

“You and Brin find the medkit,” she ordered, gesturing to their discarded packs that lay scattered on the floor, “and hurry.” 

Kai nodded, and tugged at Brin’s sleeve to pull her into action. The two fell into crouches side-by-side and began rifling through the small cases.

While Serren examined his injured hand more closely, Han cast a glance across to Tal. She stood well back from the assassin—at a distance at least twice the length of the creature’s considerable reach—holding one blaster resolutely trained on the being’s cowled head. She had shifted her stance for a better angle and looked quite prepared to put another burst of plasma into the creature if he so much as twitched. After studying the attacker carefully for signs of consciousness and finding none, she cut her eyes to Han and cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. 

“You okay, Dad?”

“Hell of a lot better now,” he said with a wink, and they exchanged grins. 

Kai had returned with the medkit, and he felt a pleasant numbing warmth begin to spread through the palm of his injured hand as Serren washed and treated his wound. He looked down at his blonde daughter’s face; her expression was calm and serene, and she was humming softly to herself, with half closed eyes, seemingly caught in some Force-trance as she quietly ordered Kai to pass her supplies from the medkit. Not surprisingly, Han noted that her sister was already reaching for the correct item before Serren had uttered a word. Beyond the pair, Brin was busily packing up the scattered contents of their packs. 

While the twins tended to his wound, Han angled his gaze to Tal once more. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway?” he asked hoarsely. “I thought you were on Telos, kicking ass…”

Tal gave a slight shrug, and then stole another glance at her unconscious charge. “Yeah, well...racing isn’t  _ everything _ , y’know.”

Han answered with a snort. She didn’t fool him; racing  _ was _ everything to Tal. She was so much like Han himself at that age; restless, full of fuel and fire—but without the angry disenchantment and resentment he’d carried within him then. Chasing the adrenaline rush was something any Corellian could understand, and Tal had inherited those genes in spades. Still, he couldn’t help but be pleasantly astonished by the change he saw in his daughter. Despite her diminutive stature, she seemed to carry herself just a little bit taller now, displaying an easy self-confidence that he hadn’t seen in her in several years. Although her extended absence had been hard on him and Leia—her sojourn in the Outer Rim had stretched on far longer than either of them had anticipated or wanted—it was obvious that the time away had done Tal some good. She seemed to have matured and grown into her own skin. Even more significantly, as far as Han was concerned, the old sparkle in her eyes was back. 

“Some things _ are _ more important, Dad,” Tal added at length, offering him a crooked smile.

Deep affection radiated from her bright hazel eyes and filled Han’s chest with a warm glow. He held her gaze for a quiet moment and then nodded his agreement before turning his focus back to Serren, watching as she made a final loop with the bandage and secured it snugly around his injured palm, while Kai looked on with a critical eye. When she was finished, Serren turned her blue eyes to her father, looking up at him expectantly. Han flexed his fingers, made a fist, and then gave her a grateful smile. 

“Good job, Sweetheart,” he said, and then glanced toward Kai and winked. “Both of you.”

“What now, Dad?” Brin asked from the door.

“Now, you run down to the next landing and start shouting for help. Keep shouting ‘til you get some guards up here. And you two,” he said to the twins, “if there’s any more of those long bandages left, you can help me tie up our friend over there.” 

“Oh, no,” Serren admonished. “You’re not doing  _ anything  _ until I look at that neck wound, Dad. You were almost killed, for stars’ sake. Tal’s got him covered for now, so let the queen’s guards deal with him. You need to  _ rest _ .” 

“Always the voice of reason,” Han sighed. “Just like your moth—oh,  _ kriff.” _

Han turned in a wide circle, scrubbing his uninjured hand over his face as he took in the ruined state of the room. Tal’s stray bolts had left deep gouges in the walls, littering the floor and the rugs with bits of rubble and stone dust. Furniture was overturned, one of the bed posts had been sheared off at the top, and there were several smouldering holes in the canopy. And in the midst of the damage, his four youngest daughters, who had banded together of their own accord, risking life and limb in order to save him, stood staring at him with wide, curious eyes.

“What?” Serren pressed. “What’s wrong, Dad?”

Han blew out a heavy breath. “Never mind  _ that  _ guy,” he said, gesturing with a jerk of his chin toward the would-be assassin. “Your mother is gonna kill me.”


	18. Tal

“I think Dad was pretty sure you were gonna kill him,” Tal said, smiling at her mother across the holochess table. 

Leia set her mug down atop the scuffed surface and gave her daughter a puzzled look. “For what?” 

“For letting the girls come so close to wrecking everything you’re trying to do out here….” 

Leia waved one hand in languid dismissal. “Oh, he hardly _let_ them do it. They were under direct orders from him _and_ me to stay put on the ship, and they not only defied those orders, they also _lied_ to Chewie about where they were going, and then made off with a small arsenal of handmade ordnance. I think we’ve got a slightly bigger challenge ahead of us with those three than we ever realised.” 

Tal hummed in acknowledgement as she lifted her mug to her lips, taking a moment to close her eyes and inhale its familiar fragrance. There was something about the tangy scent of karlini tea that she associated very strongly with the  _ Falcon _ and with her mother. It smelled like home. She took a sip and then sighed with pleasure before opening her eyes and angling an enquiring look at Leia. “On the other hand, they  _ did _ pretty much save his life. Think you might let ‘em off the hook for the other stuff?” 

Leia bit her lip as she considered the question, her dark eyes fixed on her own mug. To Tal’s eye, she looked like she was trying to disguise a smile. 

“For defying orders, perhaps,” Leia conceded at length, raising her gaze once more. “But for lying to their uncle…? There has to be some consequence for that.” Her dark eyes sparkled as a small smile tipped the corners of her lips. “Though I’m not sure your father and I could devise any harsher punishment than that  _ look  _ Chewie gave them when we got back to the ship.” 

Tal half-winced, half-chuckled. “Uh...yeah, there aren’t many things worse than disappointing Uncle Chewie. I know that from firsthand experience, and I  _ never  _ want it to happen again. I felt like the most wretched, ungrateful child in the galaxy, that one time when I… _ ugh _ ....” Tal trailed off on a grimace, still squirming inwardly over the old shame, though it was now several years behind her. She would rather take a stun blast to the face than be the one who put that look of bewildered hurt in Chewbacca’s blue eyes again. 

Leia eyed her daughter with deep affection. “Oh, you weren’t so bad, you know. You were just going through a rough patch. And you’ve turned into such a wonderful young woman, Tal. I’m so proud of you.” 

The sting of tears was the last thing Tal expected. Ducking her head, she tried to blink them rapidly away, but when she sensed Leia sliding closer to her around the bench and felt her mother’s warm hand come to rest on her shoulder, the hot tears spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. She turned into her mother’s welcoming embrace and buried her face. 

“I’m sorry, Mom,” she muttered into the crook of Leia’s neck, wrapping one arm around her back. “Sorry I’ve been out of touch. I didn’t mean for it to be so long.” 

Leia remained silent for a long moment, her fingers idly combing through Tal’s short hair with a tender touch. “We’ve missed you so much, Sweetheart,” she murmured at length. “I realise now that you just needed some space, but it was really hard not to pelt you with messages. I went to the comm almost every day, determined to track you down and—” She cut herself short and then gave a soft laugh. “Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing your father is quick on his feet and really good at distracting me. I think he understood….” She paused again, and Tal could both hear and feel the shaky breath her mother drew and then exhaled. “I think he understood what you needed, better than I did.”

Tal lifted her head and met her mother’s gaze. Leia’s big brown eyes were bright with tears, too, but she offered a gentle smile as she stroked an unruly lock of hair away from her daughter’s face and smoothed it behind one ear. Although she was no Force-sensitive, Tal could feel the balm of forgiveness and maternal love flowing over her. She returned the smile warmly and leaned in to place a grateful kiss on her mother’s soft cheek. 

“You understand me just fine, Mom. I love you.” 

“I love you, too,” Leia said, releasing Tal with a final, gentle pat on the arm and then settling back into her seat. 

Tal breathed out the last of her tension and lifted her cup of tea to her lips once more. “I know you’ve been busy with work and stuff, but...have you, uh...have you seen the—”

“The league tables?” Leia interjected, cocking one fine eyebrow as she watched Tal sip her drink. “Of course I have. Do you think there’s a race you’re in that we don’t all watch over and over again? I was almost late for the second day of the panel review on Dubrillion because I wanted to see the coverage of your first heat.” 

Tal flushed with pleasure and beamed a proud smile at her mother. “Pretty good, huh?” 

“Amazing, Tal. You’re carving your own way, and your dad and I can’t wait to see what you’ll accomplish next. In fact, we were wondering if you’d mind,” Leia paused, giving Tal a hopeful look, “if we were to attend the finals in person, provided we can arrange our schedules to suit. We’d go disguised. No one would know we were there.” 

“Ah, I don’t  _ actually _ mind people knowing who I am, Mom. I think I’m kinda getting over that now. But the finals?” Tal chuckled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but they’re a long way off. I haven’t even qualified for the next race yet.” 

Leia’s answering smile was indulgent. “Yes, well, pardon my presumption, but I think that’s a foregone conclusion. And I suppose you’ll have to head back soon. Are you sure you don’t want us to go with you to the spaceport and see you off from there?”

Tal shook her head. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine,” she replied, setting her empty mug on the tabletop. “The next round of qualifying runs doesn’t start until the day after tomorrow, so there’s no rush for me to get back to Telos. I thought I might hang around Orinth for a while, do a little shopping for some essentials. Just relax for a change...and try to recover.” 

Leia gave a soft chuff of laughter. “I can’t say I blame you for wanting some downtime,” she observed, reaching for the thermal carafe and dividing the last of the tea between their two cups. “You certainly deserve it. I’d hazard to guess you’ve had enough family excitement over the last couple of days to last you quite some time.”

“Yeah. After this little adventure—and being forced to  _ dance  _ while wearing that giant Gumba pudding of a  _ dress _ —taking a hairpin turn at five-hundred clicks will seem tame by comparison.” 

Leia laughed, but for Tal it was absolutely true. Without a doubt, the past couple of days had been amongst the most nerve-racking of her young life. With her mother’s arrival and the assassin’s apprehension behind them, she’d felt certain that they could all finally take a deep breath and that her father’s release would be little more than a formality. But the fraught situation hadn’t ended there, as Tal had hoped. Owing to the lateness of the hour when Leia arrived, the queen had decreed that negotiations for the procurement of her new consort would have to wait until later in the day, after her guests had sufficient time to rest and recover— _ and _ following a lavish banquet and a grand ball to be held in their honour. 

With her estranged husband on the run from justice, the queen had been more determined than ever to persuade Leia to relinquish Han so that he could take the disgraced royal’s place at her side. Leia, the consummate diplomat, had graciously agreed to the delay—although not without first casting a consultative glance at her own husband’s face. Tal had ducked her head to hide a grin at her father’s pained expression, but he had acquiesced readily enough once it became clear that he would be accommodated with his family for the duration of the negotiations. 

And so—as if narrowly escaping the clutches of a hired killer hadn’t been unpleasant enough—Tal and her sisters had been presented with ornate formal dresses, tight shoes and elaborate hair ornaments in the local style, and then required to stand dutifully by, wrapped and draped in metres of shimmersilk and lace, while their mother followed the path of diplomacy. 

Tal had been somewhat dismayed by that unexpected turn of events, but her mild distress had been nothing compared to the reactions of Kai and Brin, whose mutinous expressions had been quelled only by Leia’s stern admonishments and Han’s wry reminder that they were already in line for a good, long chat with their parents about how they’d become involved in the incident in the first place, and they probably didn’t want to make things any worse for themselves. The girls had subsequently spent a good portion of the evening alternately glowering in silence or looking enormously bored; only Serren had cheerfully donned the pretty ball gown and circulated amongst the Areti courtiers with good grace. 

Given how firmly entrenched the Areti queen seemed to be in her position and how smugly self-assured she seemed to be that she would win the prize she’d set her sights upon, it had come as a bit of a shock to Tal when, halfway through the festive evening, Calissa had abruptly changed her mind. After calling for the attention of the assembled Areti courtiers, she had announced that it was now her view that the off-worlder Han Solo was ill-suited to be her consort after all. He was to be released to the custody of his wife, and the Organa-Solo family were free to remain on Areto or leave, as it pleased them. 

“I guess it could have been much worse,” Tal remarked to her mother, thinking about that sudden, odd turnaround. “I thought for sure you were going to give the queen and her court a few gentle lessons in personal agency and gender equality. I never expected you to use the old Jedi mind trick on her unless things got truly desperate.” She chuckled ruefully, “But if you hadn’t I guess we’d probably _ still _ be doing the Gamorrean Two-Step in those awful shoes.”

Leia pursed her lips. “Yes, well,  _ I’m  _ not the one who used the mind trick.” 

Tal felt her eyes go wide. “Uh-oh.” 

“Yeah,  _ ‘uh-oh’ _ is right,” Leia agreed, her brows lowering in a slight frown. 

“Kai?” Tal surmised.

“Kai,” Leia said with a nod. “Your father and I are still trying to decide exactly how to deal with her intervention. She thinks she was being helpful, but…” she trailed off and chuckled dryly. “You can rest assured, when we get back to Coruscant we’re going to have a long chat about  _ boundaries _ and what constitutes responsible use of the Force.”

Tal bit her lip and shook her head. “Oh boy. So you  _ really  _ don’t need to worry about me, Mom. You already—”.

From further down the ring corridor, Tal heard the heavy clatter of multiple footsteps approaching, and the sound of voices raised in animated conversation. Both women angled around in their seats to watch the three youngest Solo girls emerge from the rounded hatchway. They boiled into the main hold in a blur of sound and frenetic motion, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the two women at the table.

“We wouldn’t even have gone after him, if it weren’t for me,” Kai argued, haughtily stalking towards the engineering station. “It was my idea in the first place.”

“ _ Our _ idea,” Brin corrected, following closely behind. “And you’d both still be wandering around in the wards or the castle keep if it weren’t for  _ my  _ tech expertise.”

The trio continued their squabbling all the way to the engineering station, where Kai set down a small device she’d been carrying and then sat down at the station to begin tinkering with it. 

“Yeah, but it was me and Kai who held that big guy off of the rest of you,” Serren pointed out, leaning a hip against the console and folding her arms. “You’d be flattened right now if it weren’t for us.”

“Oh, _ please _ ,” Brin scoffed. “Gee, who was it who conveniently brought along a  _ field disruptor _ and saved you all from becoming a permanent part of the decor? Oh yeah...that was  _ me _ .”  

“As I was saying,” Tal continued, turning back to her mother with a wry smile and trying her best to tune out the girls’ conversation, “there’s no need to worry about me. You and Dad have your hands full with those three _.” _

“You’re probably right,” Leia sighed. “We’ve managed to avoid a galactic incident so far...perhaps we’d better get them out of here while our luck still holds.”

Hearing the thud of booted footfalls approaching via the ring corridor, Tal turned her head in time to see her father step down into the hold. 

“Chewie’s finishing up cross-checking the jump calculations and we should be ready to lift in twenty,” he announced as he crossed to the table and slid into the empty space beside Leia. He stretched an arm out behind her and rested it lightly across her shoulders. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get off this backwards rock.”

“That makes two of us,” Tal agreed. 

“Don’t be too hard on the Areti people,” Leia said, giving Han’s thigh a pat, but directing her comments to both him and Tal. “It’s all they know. With time and support from the New Republic, I’m sure they will learn to make more equitable choices and bring their values into line with more enlightened views...but that kind of change doesn’t happen overnight, as you well know.” 

Tal pressed her lips together and cast a furtive glance at her father’s face. He appeared to be listening attentively, but when Leia paused to take a sip of her drink, he threw Tal a wink. 

“Patience and diplomacy is what’s best in the long run,” Han opined sagely, keeping a perfectly straight face.

“You’re learning, Flyboy,” Leia said dryly and then laughed softly when he beamed his biggest, proudest smile over her head at Tal. 

The lively conversation still happening a few metres away briefly swelled in volume as Brin and Kai appeared to disagree over some technical aspect of the gadget they were discussing. Raising her palms in a placating gesture, Serren intervened and soon the trio were hunkered together over the object once more. 

Leia observed the three girls for a moment and then quirked an eyebrow at Tal, pitching her voice low enough to prevent it carrying across the hold. “Obviously, I’m not thrilled with Kai’s methods, but just between us three...I’m glad it worked.” 

“And I’m just glad I got out of there when I did,” Han said, “before Her Majesty decided to subject me to a closer inspection—or worse. Between that possibility and death by strangulation, I’m not sure which I would’ve preferred.”

“Oh, come on, admit it,” Leia laughed, tilting her face up to him. “You must be a  _ little  _ flattered that she chose you over all the men on the planet? She’s beautiful...tall, fair, statuesque—.”

“I prefer ‘em small, dark and sassy,” he returned with a wink. 

Leia rolled her eyes, but Tal saw the fond sparkle that flashed between them. 

“Anyway,” Han continued, “I kinda like having a say in the matter, and I made my choice a long time ago.” 

“And you’ve got absolutely no desire for an upgrade?” Leia teased with a smile. 

Han looked down at his wife, his expression softening. “Can’t upgrade from the top of the line, Sweetheart.” 

Leia’s smile widened. “Just for the record, I was prepared to go hand-to-hand to defend your honour, if necessary,” she whispered, stretching up a little as Han lowered his head. They shared a brief, sweet kiss. 

Tal picked up her mug and hid her contented smile behind it while she watched the exchange. If her galaxy had a bright centre to it, she mused, this was it. The warmth of her parents’ love for each other radiated outward like the rays of a sun, touching and energizing everything around it—Tal, her sisters, the life they had forged together as a family.  No matter where her own adventures took her, Tal knew in her bones that  _ this  _ was her constant, her guiding light, strong and abiding through good times and bad.  Her parents would always be there, and they would always be together, no matter what.

“ _ Ewwww! _ ” Brin’s voice rang out from across the hold. “They’re doing it  _ again _ .”

Tal, Han and Leia all shifted around in the direction of the three youngest girls, who had ceased their squabbling and focused their attention on the activity at the table, watching the interaction between their parents with incredulous expressions. 

“Seriously,” Kai said with an obvious note of displeasure, “ _ all _ you guys have done since we got back here is  _ kiss _ .”

“What? Somethin’ wrong with kissin’?” Han asked, sticking his chin out belligerently. He turned back to Leia and winked. She shot him a playful look and then they fell together, locking themselves with exaggerated fervor into a tight embrace, and began to shower one other with noisy and exuberant smooches. Tal snorted a laugh as her sisters’ faces twisted into looks of mortification and disgust.

“Gross!” Brin squealed, clapping her hands over her eyes.

Even Serren looked slightly horrified. “Honestly,” she said. “Must you?”

Kai gave a long-suffering groan. “Come on, girls,” she said as she pivoted on her heel. “Let’s go play _Raid the Sector._ ” She flounced off in the direction of their cabin, making a sour face at her parents’ ongoing routine as she passed by. “Bye, Tal,” she tossed over her shoulder as an afterthought. “See you on the ‘net.”

Serren regarded her parents’ antics for a moment longer and then shrugged. “Later, Tal,” she said, giving her older sister a little wave as she then turned and trailed along in her twin’s wake.

Brin made as if to follow the others, and then paused and doubled back. She skipped over to the acceleration couch, leaned across the bench and caught Tal up in a fierce hug. 

“Bye, Tal,” she whispered. “I’ll miss you.” Backing away with a wary look askance at Han and Leia—whose playful smooches appeared to be turning slightly more sincere—she then left the trio at the table to dissolve into laughter as she finally turned and took off to her quarters.  

“That trick works every time,” Han drawled, giving Leia a final, genuine kiss on the lips before sliding from the bench and rising to his feet, splaying his hands across the small of his back and stretching with a groan and a wince. “I’d better get back up to help Chewie with the final prep,” he said, and then angled a questioning glance at Tal. “You heading out, Junior?”

Tal drained her tea and nodded. “Mmm hmm. You go on ahead; I’ll pop in to say goodbye on my way out.”

Han made a sound of acknowledgement and retreated toward the cockpit. Tal’s gaze tracked his transit, noting the stiffness in his stride and the subtle hesitation in his movements as he stepped up into the ring corridor and then disappeared from view. She angled a glance at her mother and saw that Leia was watching, too, pressing her lips together in a thin line and shaking her head with an expression of mild concern.

“He’ll be alright,” Tal said in a confident tone, as much to allay her own worries as her mother’s. “Nothing time and a few more bacta treatments won’t fix, right?”

Leia turned her eyes to Tal, and gave a small smile. “I know,” she returned. “I told him Chewie and I can handle the  _ Falcon  _ for the trip back, but you know your father.” 

Tal gave a soft laugh. “Twice as stubborn as an ornery Ronto.”

“Exactly. But Chewie made him promise he won’t overdo it, and he knows better than to break a promise to a Wookiee.” She sighed, and then slid across the bench, rose to her feet and stretched with a yawn. “I’m so tired. I’ll see you out, and then I think I’ll head back and take a nap.”

“You go ahead,” Tal insisted. “I need to say goodbye to Dad and Chewie anyway.” She gave her mother a wry smile. “You know Uncle Chewie; one goodbye hug is never enough. It might take a while.”

“True. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course not.” 

Leia opened her arms wide in invitation as she gave Tal a tender smile. “Come here. It’s been  _ so _ good to see you, Tal. I only wish it could have been longer.”

“And a little less dangerous,” Tal said dryly. She scooted out from behind the table and stood, then stepped into the circle of her mother’s welcoming arms, wrapping her own arms around her in a tight embrace. The affection that flowed to her from her mother was warm and enveloping, filling her with a powerful sense of belonging that made her eyes sting with tears once more.

“Bye, Mom,” she managed, squeezing just a little harder before drawing a deep breath, relinquishing her hold and stepping back. “I’ll be home in a couple of months, when the circuit breaks for all-star exhibitions. And I’ll comm every day.”

Leia arched an eyebrow and skewed her pursed lips to one side, wordlessly referencing Tal’s proclivity for doing precisely the opposite. “ _ Every _ day, Tal? Really? ”

“Okay, once a week,” Tal conceded with a shrug and a self-conscious grin. “But I’ll  _ think _ of you every day.”

Leia smiled. “Good enough, Sweetheart,” she said. “And we  _ will _ see you at the finals, I’m sure.” After a final, lingering hug and a maternal kiss of farewell, Leia took her leave. 

As Tal watched her mother’s retreating back, she felt as though her world, which had been tilted off its axis just hours before, had finally righted itself once more. She knew unequivocally that no matter where she roamed, the love of her family and the strong and unbreakable bond they shared meant that she was never truly far away from them at all. She glanced around the interior of the  _ Falcon _ , saying a silent farewell to the familiar old ship, and then retrieved her satchel from the acceleration couch, slung it over her shoulder, and headed for the cockpit.    

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this story is now technically "complete", to thank you for reading this far we have decided to write a completely gratuitous "bonus" chapter featuring our OTP _alone together_ at last.... Stay tuned!


	19. Leia

 

At the sound of booted footsteps approaching slowly along the  _ Falcon’s _ ring corridor, Leia glanced up from her datapad and turned her attention toward the open hatch. Setting the device down in her lap, she shifted on the bunk in anticipation and straightened her back against the pillow that propped her upright against the bulkhead. A moment later, as Han’s familiar figure came into view, she felt a smile begin to stretch across her face, and marveled all over again at how the sight of her husband on his way to join her in bed still had the power to thrill her and fill her with a happy glow.

Seeing him now, though—freshly showered, but moving stiffly and still bearing the marks of his recent struggle for survival—Leia felt an uneasy quiver roll through the pit of her stomach. It had been a long time since either of them had faced a serious threat to their lives, but she’d come perilously close to losing him this time, and the horror of that near-miss still lingered. Thinking about what might have happened if their daughters hadn’t been there to stop the assassin made Leia’s blood run cold. Giving herself a mental shake, she drew a deep breath and released it, making an effort to set those troubling thoughts aside as she greeted her husband with a warm smile.

“Are the girls all settled in?” she asked as Han reached the open hatch and stepped over the threshold into the cabin. 

He snorted a laugh. “If by  _ settled in _ you mean wide awake, blasting what they like to call ‘music’ and mooning over boy-bands on the holonet, then yeah, they are.”

Leia arched an eyebrow. “Wait.  _ Brin _ is mooning over boys?”

“Nah. She’s gushing over the effect radius of Merr-Sonn’s new line of EMP grenades. They can drop a droid at fifty metres, she says.” He chuckled under his breath and shot his wife a wry look. “We  _ may _ need to have a little chat with our Boom-Boom about her hobbies.”

Leia gave him a rueful smile. “Well, I'm glad they're all letting off a little steam anyway.”

“Yeah, and they’ll let off a little more in the morning, when they have to scrub out the main hold.” 

“Did you tell them?”

“Not yet,” Han said with a shake of his head. “Figured they earned the right to have a little fun before we spring that on ‘em.”

Leia skewed her lips to one side as she considered the disciplinary action she and Han had agreed upon. “Given the situation, I almost hate to come down on them,” she said. “But I suppose there has to be some consequence for lying to Chewie and sneaking off without telling anyone their plans.” 

Han angled around, lifting a hand to palm the door controls before turning back to face his wife. “Agreed. Savin’ my skin is one thing; going behind Chewie’s back to do it is another.”

The hatch door slipped shut behind him with a muted hiss, and Leia watched carefully as he turned back in her direction and began to cross the cabin toward the deep double bunk upon which she sat. Tracking his movements, she frowned, noting with dismay that the stiffness in his stride that she’d observed earlier seemed to have worsened. Her concern deepened when he reached the edge of the bunk and leaned down to give her a light kiss. His normally fluid movements were halting and careful, and when he straightened with a pronounced wince and began unfastening the closures of his shirt with clumsy fingers, Leia sighed. 

“I knew it,” she said, reaching over to tuck her data pad into one of the recessed alcoves at the foot of the bunk. “We should have accepted the queen’s offer to have her personal physician take a look at you.” 

Han made a sour face. “Nah, I've had all the queen's attention I can stomach, Sweetheart. I was just glad to get the hell away from there as fast as possible. And anyway, I'm fine.” He tipped his chin and angled his head from side to side, offering Leia a glimpse of the still-angry welts on his throat. “See? Better already. Bacta gel’s doin’ its job.” 

Leia chewed her lip and watched him as he began to undress, the ache in his muscles evident in his tight features and the uncharacteristic hesitancy of his movements. It had been obvious to her all along that Han was putting on a brave face and downplaying his discomfort in front of the children. He didn’t want to worry them, she reasoned, and so she’d played along while keeping a vigilant eye. But when he stopped short in the act of sliding his shirt from his shoulders, inhaling sharply, and then grimacing and stifling a groan as he eased the garment off, Leia decided it was time to intervene.

“That’s it,” she said as she threw back the bedcovers to swing her legs over the side of the bunk. She smoothed down the lower hem of her thin shift to cover her bare thighs, and then patted the edge of the mattress beside her. “Come here.”

“Sweetheart, I’m  _ fine _ , honestly.” He gave Leia a strained smile and then stepped across to the spare bunk with a show of energetic alacrity, bending slightly to drape his shirt across the foot of the bare mattress. But as he tried to straighten once again, his battered body made it clear that it objected to the brisk movement. He hissed a breath through clenched teeth and then brought a bracing hand to the small of his back as he turned back toward their bunk, moving with glacial slowness that belied his earlier zealous display. 

Seeming to feel the weight of Leia’s scrutiny upon him, Han shot her a sidelong glance. “What?” he managed, sticking his jaw out at a belligerent angle.

Leia quirked a knowing smile. “Enough, Han. You can barely move.”

“Really, I’m fi—.”

“Insisting that you’re fine does not  _ make  _ you fine,” Leia interjected. Rising to her feet, she closed the distance between them and slipped her arm through his. “I know you’re hurting. Let me help.” She leaned in to catch his eye at the same time as she steered him toward the bunk. “Please? Just lie down and relax, and I’ll give you a nice, long massage. You’ll thank me in the morning.” 

Han hesitated for just a moment, but then cracked a grateful smile and nodded his acquiescence. Leia could feel the taut tension in his posture ease perceptibly as he finally relaxed and leaned into her steadying arm. He moved with her to the side of their bunk, grimacing once more as he gingerly eased himself down and then breathed out an audible sigh of relief.

“Rest for a second,” Leia said, patting his shoulder lightly. “And then I’ll help you off with those trousers.”

Han lifted a suggestive eyebrow. “Alone together for five minutes and you’re already tryin’ to get me outta my pants,” he said in a teasing drawl, gripping the edge of the mattress with both hands and shifting around in an effort to find a comfortable seated position.

Leia gave a soft chuff of laughter and eyed him fondly. “At least your sense of humour wasn’t injured. First things first; let’s—”

The faint  _ ping  _ of the comm that signaled an incoming transmission sounded throughout the cabin. Leia paused mid-sentence and smiled, grasping hold of the tendril of energy that reached out to her through the Force, allowing her to sense the origin of the communication before she even retrieved the message. 

“That’s Breha,” she announced brightly. Leaving Han to settle himself on the edge of the mattress, she turned away and stepped over to the small comms station adjacent to their bunk, then swiftly keyed in the commands to accept the transmission. 

The message was a pre-recorded holo and, while it loaded, Leia searched her memory for the last time she’d seen or heard from their eldest daughter. Like Tal, Breha hadn’t been in contact for some time, but with good reason. She was at a crucial stage of her Jedi instruction with Luke out on the remote edge of the Gordian Reach, and Leia knew from her own experience that the training required absolute focus and concentration. As such, both master and pupil had sealed their minds to all but each other and opened it to the Force, to enable Breha to shape and control her latent abilities without distraction. But the timing of the new incoming message couldn’t have been better, and Leia couldn’t help but feel a measure of relief knowing that the pair had been shielded from the fraught emotions that had afflicted their family over the past couple of days.

The holo began its playback and Breha’s pretty, heart-shaped face came into focus. Leia smiled, feeling her heart swell with love at the sight of her beloved firstborn. Breha’s hair was a glossy deep brown, as Leia’s had been in her youth, and she often wore it in complex Alderaani-style braids, in homage to her mother. But she was otherwise strikingly similar to her father in both appearance and manner, and those similarities were never more evident than now. Lean and leggy like Han, Breha was also possessed of his easy, athletic grace and his same confidence and self-assurance, and it was obvious that her Jedi training had enhanced those traits. In the holo, she was smiling broadly, and emanated a joy so strong it practically radiated from the screen. Beaming a wide smile, Leia cast a backward glance at Han, who was leaning forward in eager anticipation with his eyes fixed on the display, and then sank into the deskside chair to watch the transmission, tilting away from the desk so Han could get a clear view of the holo from his place at the bunk. 

“Hey, Mom, Dad,” Breha said, offering a little wave to the holocam. “I miss you. Hope everything is okay there, and I can’t wait to see you both.” She paused then, and angled around to glance over her shoulder. “Uncle Luke’s here too. I’ve been working really hard, and... well, I have something to show you.” She lifted her hand, proudly displaying the familiar item she held cradled in her palm—a cylindrical object fashioned from gleaming metal, with a slender, contoured grip and custom-etched markings on its hilt. It was sleek, elegant, and very  _ Breha _ .

“Oh,” Leia breathed, although the communication wasn’t live and she knew her daughter couldn’t hear her. “Darling, it’s beautiful.”

The holo shimmered as Breha swivelled her wrist, rotating the object to give a full view. “Can you believe it? My own lightsaber.” She paused and then beamed a smile at the holocam. “And now I am a Jedi, like my mother before me,” she intoned, her voice rich with pleasure and rightful pride in her accomplishment. 

From somewhere off-screen, Leia heard a low chuckle, and then her brother’s familiar figure appeared in the frame. Luke, dressed in the robes of a Jedi Master, stepped into view wearing a proud smile, and clasped his niece’s shoulder warmly as he addressed the cam with a twinkle in his eye. 

“As you can see, Breha’s initial training is complete. And, since we’ve both had enough of the peace and quiet here on Kushibah, we thought it might be fun for all of us to meet on Kashyyyk for a little family time. We’re heading back that way in a few days, and wanted to see if you’d be free to join us. Mara and the kids will be there, and the cousins haven’t seen each other in a while. And there’s certainly cause for celebration.”

“Please say yes,” Breha implored, clasping her hands around the gleaming hilt of her lightsaber and clutching it to her chest. “Malla has already said she’s planning a huge feast with  _ chyntuck  _ and  _ trakkrrrn _ ...everything we love. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. It'll be so much fun. You  _ have  _ to come.”  __

“Comm us when you can, and we’ll firm up the details,” Luke offered. “See you soon.”

Breha lifted a slender hand to the holocam and gave another little flutter of her fingers, her hazel eyes bright with joy. “Bye,” she said, and blew a kiss. “Love you.”

The transmission ended on a burst of static, and Leia reclined against the back of the chair, then angled around to face Han, finding his gaze locked on hers with a look that mirrored her own inward feelings of pride and gratification.

“So far, so good, huh, Sweetheart?” Han grinned, leaning back on straightened arms and giving her a wink. “We’ve got one hotshot pilot and one freshly minted Jedi. Not too shabby.” 

Leia nodded her agreement, holding his gaze. “Not too shabby,” she murmured with a smile. 

“Now, if we can just get the other three grown without any more trouble, I reckon we’ll be doing all right.” 

Still smiling, Leia climbed to her feet and then crossed the short distance back to the bunk to stand before her battered and bruised husband. He straightened up and braced his hands on his thighs as she positioned herself between his knees. With him seated, their height difference was negligible, but he still had to tilt his head back slightly to keep her face in view, and Leia didn’t miss the wince of pain that accompanied that movement. With tender care, she lifted both hands to frame his face and leaned in to place a careful kiss on his lips. Han responded with warmth, sliding his hands around her waist and drawing her gently nearer. They lingered for a long moment, exchanging a series of soft kisses that left them both smiling as they finally parted. 

“I am so proud of them all,” Leia said as she straightened. Gently smoothing Han’s hair away from his face with her fingertips, she gazed down into his eyes. “And I’m proud of us, too.” 

“We  _ are  _ pretty good at raising kids,” Han agreed, adopting a thoughtful expression that quickly transformed into a playful leer. He gave her a light squeeze. “Wanna try for one more?” 

"Watch it, Flyboy.” Leia looked down her nose at him with a mock-stern glare. “I have blasted people for lesser threats."  

“Killjoy,” Han laughed softly. “But you know....” He cocked a suggestive eyebrow and his voice dropped an octave, reaching that subterranean level that always sent a shiver of anticipation racing down the length of her spine. “We can still...go through the motions.”

“Mmmm,” she murmured, closing the scant distance between them to press her lips to his again. “Now  _ that _ we can certainly do.” 

Han hugged her close, seeking to deepen the kiss, and Leia complied, relishing the sweetly familiar touch of his warm lips on hers and the pleasure of his strong arms wrapped around her body. They had only been apart for a few days, but she had nevertheless felt his absence keenly, and she was filled with a renewed rush of relief and gratitude that he was safe from harm and back in her arms where he belonged. 

When they parted once more, Leia took a moment to examine his face more carefully. Despite the passage of the years ,  she could see no significant difference in him, although she was aware that her deep devotion to her husband probably cast a forgiving veil over the myriad changes to his face and body that had come naturally with age. She scanned his features, allowing her loving gaze to roam for a moment over the familiar scar on his chin, the angle of his clean-shaven jaw and the sensual curve of his lips, and then upward to the tiny lines that crinkled the corners of his remarkable eyes, and the silver-grey hair at his temples. She smiled, thinking about how those changes in his appearance were merely treasured testaments to their long years together. To her eye, he was every bit as attractive as he’d been when they first met, and time had not diminished the flame of her desire for him. If anything, the thirty years they’d spent together and the deep, solid connection they shared amplified that desire tenfold.  

But as his arms tightened around her waist to pull her closer still, he released a muffled, creaking groan that Leia recognized as more indicative of his tender muscles than his burning ardor. She leaned back and gave him a rueful smile. 

“Okay, Hotshot, cool your engines,” Leia said with a soft laugh, stepping back from the circle of his embrace. “Stretch out and let me get started on that massage.”

When Han made no objection, but simply bent over and began tugging off his boots, Leia realized that he was indeed in much greater pain than he’d been letting on. After helping him strip off the remainder of this clothes, Leia left him to settle himself in the bunk while she ventured into the fresher to retrieve a bottle of lightly scented massage oil. She pulled a face at the sight of the half-empty bottle as she removed it from the embedded storage cabinet, but then smiled at the pleasant scent that wafted out when she thumbed open the cap. It was bacta-infused and highly effective—and, therefore, outrageously expensive—stuff; the last of a treasured stash they’d collected on their last trip to Kubindi. She made a mental note to acquire more of it the next time their duties took them out past the Tion Cluster. 

Stepping back into the cabin with the bottle in her hand, she paused for a moment to appreciate the sight of her naked husband. Laid bare and sprawled out on his stomach, he had found a comfortable position on the blind side of the bunk near the bulkhead, with his head on one of the two plush pillows, and his arms folded and tucked beneath.

Reaching out to the control panel on her left, Leia lowered the cabin lights to a soft glow, and lingered for a moment longer to admire the way the pattern of light and shadow that fell across Han’s bare skin made his naturally golden complexion appear even deeper. He was certainly a beautiful man, she mused, not for the first time. Slightly bulkier now than he’d been in his youth, he was nevertheless still fit and firm, and possessed of a masculine grace of form that never failed to make her pulse race when she beheld it. Sauntering over to the bunk, she allowed her gaze to roam over the muscled contours of his physique and smiled at the sight of her favourite features. Her offer of a massage had been a sincerely altruistic one, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy every minute of it, too. 

“Gettin’ kinda cold over here,” Han complained, his voice muffled against the pillow. He lifted his head and turned it in Leia’s direction, then rested it again and squinted at her in the low light. “You planning on using the good stuff, or you gonna hit me with the mumbo-jumbo?” 

Leia smirked. “You like that ‘mumbo-jumbo’ just fine when it fixes your aches and pains,” she reminded him. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I used the Force to help heal the ligaments in your knee after that fiasco on Rishi all those years ago.” 

“True.”

“Or that time you sprained your ankle on the first day of our hiking vacation in the Balnab Highlands,” Leia added. “Or any of the  _ several  _ times I soothed your scrapes and bruises when you took a tumble off the swoop trying to teach Tal how to take the corners.”

Han closed his eyes and Leia saw the corner of his mouth twitch, as if he were trying to suppress a smile. “It mighta helped a little.”

“It helped a  _ lot _ .” 

“Okay, a lot,” he conceded.

Standing over him, Leia indulged a few moments longer in admiring his bare body. Her eyes slid appreciatively over the toned muscles of his broad shoulders, following the lean lines of his back to his slim waist and narrow hips, and finally over the tight curve of his ass and the firm definition of his long legs. At length, as if conscious of the weight of her lingering gaze, Han cracked one eye to regard her with curiosity. “What?”  

“I was just thinking that it’s a good thing the queen never saw you like this,” she mused. “If she had, I probably never would have gotten you back.” 

Han gave a derisive snort. “She never stood a chance with me, Sweetheart. You know that.”

Leia smiled, kneeling on the broad mattress and then settling back to sit on her heels beside him. She  _ did _ know that, as surely as she knew her own name: Han’s fidelity to her was absolute and she was utterly secure in that knowledge. And yet, despite that certainty and Han’s own unequivocal reassurance, she couldn’t help feeling a small niggle of discomfort in her gut. 

“Anyway,” she said airily, trying to shake it off, “I’m glad she didn’t get that far.”

“Wasn’t for lack of tryin’,” Han muttered, his eyes drifting closed as he awaited Leia’s healing touch. 

Leia frowned, thinking about Han being the object of unwanted sexual advances by the Areti queen. The very idea of the indignities he had been made to endure left a hollow feeling in her stomach. She knew that Calissa’s audacious presumption and her treatment of Han hadn’t been borne of malice, but of a deeply ingrained cultural norm that had existed for centuries. The queen had genuinely believed she was doing the right thing for her people, and that knowledge quelled Leia’s anger somewhat. Even so, she couldn’t help the sense of outrage she felt at the thought of Calissa laying hands on Han without his consent—a sense of righteous indignation that was mingled with more than a little personal possessiveness. 

“Just how hard did she  _ try,  _ anyway? _ ” _ Leia ventured at length, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. 

Han lifted his head a fraction and cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “Princess...are you.. _.jealous _ ?”

Leia lowered her gaze to veil her expression and focused her attention on the Aurebesh script adorning the label of the compact container in her grasp. She gave a little shrug. “Well...I  _ am _ accustomed to being the only woman in the galaxy with certain...special privileges,” she said in a small voice. 

Han dropped his head down and closed his eyes once more, a smile playing about his lips. “You are my one and only, Sweetheart,” he said without missing a beat. “And have been since the day we met.”

Though she knew he couldn’t see her face, Leia smiled warmly down at him. She had never needed such spoken assurances from Han; she knew in her bones that his devotion to her was as constant as the stars, but to hear him say it with such matter-of-fact sincerity made her throat feel tight nevertheless. Tipping forward, she angled across Han’s prone form to place a bracing hand on the other side of the mattress, and then leaned down to press a soft kiss to his temple. 

Han’s eyes drifted open and he grinned lazily against the pillow. “I take it that was the right answer?” he teased. 

“Nerfherder,” Leia laughed, settling back on her heels. She flicked open the bottle and poured a measure of fragrant emulsion into one cupped palm, and then thumbed the container closed with her free hand and placed it on the mattress at her knees. After rubbing her hands together to activate the warming emollients in the oil, she smoothed both hands across his shoulders with light pressure, delighting in the feel of firm muscles under her fingertips. She repeated the motion with a little more vigor, and frowned at the wince of pain that flashed across Han’s profile in response. 

“You really are tender,” she observed.  

Han grunted, eyes still closed. “Yeah, well, it’s been a long time since I had the shit kicked out of me. Forgot how much it hurts.” 

“Well, try to relax now,” Leia murmured soothingly, summoning tendrils of the Force to her aid as she settled to her task. “You’ll feel better soon.” 

Leia concentrated her efforts on Han’s shoulders first, kneading and rolling the corded muscles that lay bunched and tight beneath his slick skin. It didn’t take long before her sensitive fingers discerned the slow unfurling of his tension in response to her healing touch. She hummed a low note of approval and increased the rhythmic pressure of her stroke, feeling the thermogenic agents in the oil warm her own flesh as her hands glided from his shoulders to the smaller muscles of his upper back. She closed her eyes then, focusing the full intensity of her restorative energies at the cellular level, healing and rejuvenating tissues and tendons with each subsequent pass. The pleasant green scent of the oil drifted up around her as she worked, filling the air with a soothing aroma. A few minutes passed in peaceful silence, broken only by the hum of the engines and the occasional distant trill of high-pitched teenage laughter that filtered faintly through the ventilation system.

Relaxing a little deeper into the mattress, Han inhaled deeply and released his breath in a groan of mingled pleasure and relief. 

“Better?” Leia queried, leaning down to peer at him.

“So much better,” he mumbled. “Thanks, Sweetheart.” 

Leia shifted her position on the bunk, turning her knees slightly inward to focus on his lower back. “You took a real beating,” she observed, pausing to snag the bottle and pour more of the fragrant oil into her palm. Rubbing her hands together once again, she frowned at the sight of the angry blotches of purple-green that bloomed across his right hip, visible now at closer range. “There’s some deep bruising here. This might hurt a bit.”

“S’alright,” Han muttered in a lazy drawl. “I’m happy it’s only a few bruises. Would have been a hell of a lot worse if the girls hadn’t turned up when they did.”

“I still can’t believe they even decided to try such a daring thing.” She smoothed her hands in broad strokes over the small of his back, following the curves of his hips to the mattress below and back again while infusing his body with healing waves of Force energy. 

_ “I _ still can’t believe my own kids had to rescue me,” Han said with a heavy sigh. 

Leia chuckled at his air of resignation. “Does it make you feel your age?”

Han grunted in agreement. “Embarrassing as hell,” he groused, but then his tone softened as he turned his face up from the pillow. “Aw but you shoulda seen ‘em, Sweetheart. They were fantastic. Came leapin’ in like they owned the place and took that clown down before he even knew what hit him. It was a thing of beauty, and I ain’t ever gonna forget it.” 

Leia grinned at the note of pride in Han’s voice. “I don’t know why we should be surprised. It’s not as though we haven’t worked hard to make sure they’re ready for anything the galaxy might throw their way….” 

Han rested his head once more. “Well, it sure paid off. Tal was cool as ice. Kept her head and kept the guy dancing, til the twins turned up and laid the Jedi smack down on him. Serren was completely in control, but Brin almost gave me a heart attack, diving after that detonator, and—”

Leia stopped what she was doing, her hands going stock-still on the back of Han’s thigh. “I’m sorry,  _ what _ ? Did you just say  _ detonator? _ ” 

Han winced and then buried his face in the pillow. “Uh, did I forget to mention the guy had a detonator?” 

His voice was heavily muffled, but Leia could detect a hint of laughter in his tone. She gave his leg a little shove and glared down at the back of his tousled head. “You seem to have left that part out.” 

Han lifted his face from the bedding once more, met his wife’s challenging gaze and then tried his most winning smile. “Well,  _ anyway, _ Brin dealt with it before I could even think of what to do. Pulled a field disruptor out of her pocket and killed it, quick as a wink.” 

Leia attempted to glower at him, though she had to struggle to contain a laugh. “And where do you suppose our fourteen-year-old daughter got her hands on a  _ field disruptor _ , hmmm?”

“Beats me. Told you we may need to have a little talk.” Still grinning, Han shifted onto one side facing Leia, propping himself up on one elbow as he reclined against the bulkhead.

Leia smiled back, noting with satisfaction the fluidity of his movements and his relaxed posture. “I take it your back is feeling better?”

“My back is a lot better,” Han replied. “But you can massage my front if you want….” He gave her a wink. 

Leia did laugh then. Even after decades together, he was still a hopeless flirt. A gorgeous, sexy, incorrigible flirt. She let her eyes roam over his naked body, considering his invitation.

“I do have a little oil left on my hands….” she said. Reaching out, she ran one palm over the firm bulge of his pectoral muscle. He flexed a little for her while giving her a waggling, suggestive eyebrow, and she laughed again.

“You  _ are _ feeling better.”

“All except for my throat,” he admitted, tilting his chin up and running his free hand over the red and swollen flesh of his neck.”Think you could work your mojo on this?”

Leia's brow furrowed. “Yes, of course. We should have started there, actually. That first application of bacta-gel was hours ago. Lie back.” 

Obediently, Han shifted more fully onto his back, inching down in the bed until his head was resting on the rumpled pillow once more, and then tipping his chin up to wait for Leia's touch. Her heart clenched at the sight—as much at the vulnerability he displayed as at the appearance of the puffy welts and abrasions that still marred his skin. Walking on her knees, she moved up the bed to gain easier access to his wounds, then settled down to her task with solemn concentration. After tipping a measure of the bacta-infused oil into one palm, she looked down at her husband and sighed.

“Detonators notwithstanding, I  _ am _ glad to know the girls are capable of handling themselves,” she said. Dipping two fingers into the pool of fluid in her palm, she then gingerly dotted the healing emulsion along the angry red lines that circled his throat. “Not that I want them to take such a risk ever again, but at least we know they’re resourceful in a pinch.”

“True,” Han concurred, shifting his shoulders and angling his head to one side to grant Leia access to the wounds near the back of his neck. Then he settled back against the pillow and offered a wry half-smile, his eyes twinkling as he met Leia’s gaze. “They inherited that impressive resourcefulness from me, you know.”    

“Not to mention your modesty,” she teased. “And your reckless bravado.” Shuffling back on her knees, she evaluated her work.

Han grunted. “Well, they get their overdeveloped sense of responsibility from you,” he rejoined. 

Leia gave a soft chuff of laughter as she rubbed another small measure of oil into her palms and then began working on Han’s far shoulder and upper arm. “I’m so proud of them...but I can’t say that that combination doesn’t worry me a bit, too.” 

“Kai’s the one to watch,” Han opined, closing his eyes and visibly relaxing under Leia’s rhythmic ministrations.  

“Mmm,” Leia hummed her agreement. “She’s just like her dad:  _ all action _ , and no patience for etiquette or protocol. But also strong in the Force and potentially as powerful as Luke or me. Scary mix.” 

“She'll never make a diplomat, that's for damn sure.” 

They chuckled quietly together and then fell into contented silence as Leia moved her attentions to Han’s near shoulder and began working her way down the muscles of his upper arm. His biceps and triceps were as well-shaped and firm as they’d been in his youth, and she couldn’t help congratulating herself once more on her fine choice of husband. He had a beautiful, strong and healthy body to go with his sharp intellect, and his loyal and generous heart. 

“I really can’t blame Calissa,” she found herself saying, though she hadn’t intended to speak the thoughts aloud. She extended her slow massage down the length of his forearm to his wrist, then took his heavy hand in hers and began working the small muscles there, too.

“Mm?” Han murmured. Having clearly reached a state of profound relaxation under his wife’s loving touch, he didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

“Well, you _ are _ pretty sexy.” 

He cracked open one eye at that. 

Leia smirked. “And you  _ do _ make good babies.” 

A gratified smile stretched across Han’s face as he opened both eyes. He removed his hand from her grasp, placed it on her knee and gave her a light squeeze. “Still hot for me after all these years, Princess?” 

“Yes, still,” Leia returned his smile. “And forever.” As she spoke, she traced the universal sign for infinity on his bare abdomen. It was a longstanding gesture between the two of them—a silent affirmation that they had exchanged many times over the years, beginning with the first time Han had etched the symbol on a rock, high above a tree-covered Endorian valley.  

Holding her gaze with a knowing gleam in his eyes, Han’s hand drifted from her knee to her inner thigh, softly caressing her skin before lightly tracing the same symbol there with his fingertip. 

Leia’s pulse raced a little faster and she gave him a speculative smile as she leaned down. Han lifted his head to meet her halfway, and they shared a series of slow, sweet kisses. She felt her blood ignite as his warm lips moved against hers, and she couldn’t contain the smile that spread across her face as she sensed his fingertips flexing against her flesh, inching closer to the apex of her thighs.  When they finally parted, Leia drew back with a sigh, savouring for a moment the sweet, familiar pull of longing slowly unfurling in her core. As she did so, she cast another appreciative glance down the length of her husband’s bare body and gave a soft laugh as she arched one eyebrow. 

“You are  _ definitely  _ feeling better,” she observed, sitting back on her heels and regarding him thoughtfully. She closed the container of oil and then set it down with care in one of the bunkside storage alcoves before turning back to Han with a wry smile. “Part of me feels sorry for poor Calissa.” 

“What for?

She gestured with a wry smile. “Well, she missed out on seeing all the best parts.” 

“She didn’t  _ see  _ anything.” Han gave a one-shouldered shrug against the pillow and his touch on her thigh became a caress of reassurance rather than seduction. “She got a little handsy, is all.”

“Is that so?” Leia asked dryly. Although she knew it was irrational, she couldn’t stifle another twinge of jealousy—a primitive but strongly proprietorial feeling that gripped her whenever she thought of her husband being touched with seductive purpose by another woman.  

“Yeah, but don’t worry,” Han said with a crooked smile. “I stopped her before she got to the good stuff.” 

Leia pursed her lips and mustered up a serious expression, although his cocky grin made her want to laugh again. “Well...here’s the thing: it’s  _ all  _ good stuff, Hotshot. And it’s all _ mine _ .”

Han raised an amused eyebrow, clearly enjoying her display of wifely possessiveness. “Is that so?” he echoed. 

“That’s right,” Leia said. 

Reaching down, she trailed her fingertips along his cheek to his scarred chin, then leaned over and placed a kiss on his waiting lips. “You’re mine,” she whispered as she drew back a fraction, breathing against his mouth. “All of you. And I certainly don't intend to share.” 

She kissed his chin and then shifted down in the bed so that she could stretch alongside him, finally settling down on one forearm as Han curved a supporting arm around her back. She could feel the steady rhythm of his heart surge a little as she brought her palm to rest against his chest, and noticed that the pace of his breathing had changed as well, taking on the subtle hitch that she knew signaled his growing desire. She suppressed a smile as he tucked his other arm nonchalantly beneath his head and did his best to speak in an unaffected tone while slanting a look down at her upturned face.

“Yeah, I tried to tell her that,” he said, “right before she complimented me on my smokin’ hot body.” 

Leia smirked at the mischievous twinkle in his eye. “So you got your ego stroked a little. That's nice. Just what we needed.” 

“That ain’t the  _ only _ thing she stroked.” 

Leia’s heart skipped a beat. “I thought you said she didn’t get near the good stuff.” 

“She didn’t. Copped a feel of my ass, that’s all.” 

“And you don’t count that as ‘the good stuff’?” 

“Well, it ain’t as good as what she tried for next.” 

Despite the fact that they were now travelling in hyperspace, worlds away from Areto and completely safe from the predations of its imperious queen, Leia felt a rising sense of indignation and dismay. “That’s outrageous. Han, I am so sorry you had to endure that. Why didn’t you tell me when we—”

“ _ Ssh, ssh, _ Sweetheart. Hey, no harm done,” he soothed. “She didn’t try anything I couldn’t handle and, like I said, I didn’t let her go too far. I was just tryin’ to be diplomatic, and we both know that ain't my strong suit.”

Leia snorted softly. “Well, you did a fine job of not blasting anybody. And, provided the queen never realises that one of our daughters used the Force to manipulate her, we should still be able to maintain diplomatic relations in the system.”

Han rocked his head to one side and gave her a look. “If you’re saying there's another trip to Areto in our future, just know that I'll be staying on the ship next time.”

“You needn’t worry,” Leia said, smoothing her hand over the broad expanse of his chest and running her splayed fingers through the sprinkling of crisp hair there. “I wouldn’t ask you to get within visual range of Calissa ever again—nor of any other person who entertains ideas of  _ appropriating  _ you.” She bowed her head and planted a light kiss on his bare skin. “Mine,” she reiterated firmly, and then lifted her eyes to his with a warm smile.     

Han’s answering smile was tender, his gaze turning soft and earnest as his remarkable eyes roamed her face. Leia felt her throat tighten when he put one hand up to her cheek, trailing a calloused fingertip along the line of her jaw and exerting gentle traction to draw her closer.

“All yours, Sweetheart,” he returned. “Only yours.” And then he tipped her mouth up to his.

She returned his kiss gently at first, breathing him in and savouring the warm rush of love and commitment that flowed between them through the Force—a sensation that she never tired of experiencing, even after so many years together. As their kisses began to take on increasing fervour, she found herself pressing her whole body against the length of him, aching for his touch as if they had been separated for a month instead of just a few days. Han’s free hand found the hem of her short nightgown and pushed it up, his heated palm sweeping up the curve of her waist as he deepened the kiss and pulled her tighter against him. For a long moment, they simply devoured one another, their caresses taking on a hungry intensity that left them both breathless and smiling when they finally parted.  

Han drew back just enough to catch her eye, his eyes alight with a sparkle of mirth as he flashed a crooked grin.

“I am still a  _ little  _ shook up by the whole ordeal, though,” he drawled, sliding his free hand back and forth in a slow rhythm around the bare curve of Leia’s torso, the pad of his thumb lightly grazing the underside of her breast with each pass. His eyes seemed to darken then, the light of amusement deepening to a playful gleam of carnal intent. He skimmed his fingers down over her hip to wrap around the back of her thigh, drawing her even closer and igniting the flame of Leia’s desire once more. “But I can think of one surefire way to take my mind off the trauma....”

Leia laughed. “I bet you can,” she returned in the same light, teasing tone, stifling a gasp and tilting her chin up as Han leaned in to nip and nuzzle along the curve of her throat. “But I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Flyboy. You need your rest.”

Han chuckled, the vibration of his lips against her sensitive skin sending a shiver along the length of her spine. “I don’t need  _ rest _ ,” he rumbled, hitching her leg up a little higher on his hip. “I need  _ you. _ And anyway, I’m feeling great now.”  

Leia felt her pulse treble on a wave of sweet anticipation. The way he felt, already jutting warm, hard and heavy against her thigh, was more than great—he felt  _ magnificent _ . She was so ready for him, and  positioned the way she was it would be almost effortless to slide across his body and straddle him, to nudge aside the scrap of fabric that separated them and guide him home, taking him inside her with the ease borne of long years of familiarity. But  the teasing game they so often played in these intimate moments had never lost its appeal, and she wasn’t quite ready to capitulate.

“I am glad you’re feeling better,” she said smoothly. “But...a man of your years who’s been through such an ordeal should probably take it  easy.”

Leia could feel Han’s whole body stiffen, and she had to bite her lip against the urge to laugh. 

He raised his head and gave her an indignant glare. “A man of my— _ hey! _ I’m still in my prime.” 

“You are certainly very fit for fifty-nine,” Leia agreed coolly, expending some effort to maintain an impassive expression in the face of Han’s vexation.

Tightening his arm around her back, he gave her a little jostle. “Look, Princess, I’m fit for  _ forty-nine _ , and you know it.” 

Leia’s suppressed laughter finally broke free. “You are indeed in  _ excellent  _ condition,” she soothed, chuckling at how quickly her mollifying words transformed Han’s disgruntled scowl into a pleased smirk. “And you know how much I want you, always.” She gave his chest a friendly little pat as she began to pull away, gently extricating herself from his embracing arm and disentangling their entwined legs. “But in all seriousness, Han, I am not sure that strenuous exertion right now would be in your best—”

She caught the belligerent spark in his eye just in time to prepare herself for his sudden movement, but still couldn’t contain the yelp that erupted from her mouth as he surged on top of her, rolling her onto her back and using his weight to pin her beneath him in the wink of an eye.  If she’d wanted to, she could easily have countered the move. He was quick and strong—but he was no Jedi, and he’d telegraphed his intentions a split-second before he acted, which was time enough for her to have evaded him if she’d wished. But she was already half-melted with desire, and evading him was the furthest thing from her mind.  Laughing, she parted her legs to accommodate his hips, and wriggled for a more comfortable fit beneath his heavy body, even as he dived down to kiss and nip at the skin of her throat. He growled his carnal intentions into her ear as she pretended to resist, laughing all the while at how fiercely he defended his sexual ego. 

“You’re awfully spry for an old man,” Leia gasped, writhing under the feel of his hot mouth on her throat. 

Abruptly, Han stopped what he was doing, raised himself up and then sat back on his heels, his tousled hair a riot and his heated gaze fixed on Leia’s face. 

“ _ Old man _ , huh?’” he muttered darkly. Holding her eyes, he reached for the waistband of her underwear and then began dragging the delicate apparel slowly down her legs. Leia drew her knees up to assist him, but she couldn’t stop laughing at his intense expression and the fiery indignation she could feel emanating from him in waves.  

He pulled the garment free of Leia’s feet and then flung it aside with a dramatic flourish. Leaning in, his eyes gleaming with lustful intent and a healthy measure of good humour, he braced his hands on the mattress to either side of her head and drawled, “Laugh it up, Sweetheart, but you ain’t gonna be  _ laughin’  _ for long.” 

Leia felt her pulse trip into overdrive, powered by the deep and rumbling timbre of his voice, weighted as it was with an intoxicating blend of provocation and promise. In the dim light of the bunk room, his changeable eyes sparkled and Leia felt of potent rush of excitement surge through her veins. Her laughter faded into breathlessness as she wrapped her arms and legs around his bare body and pulled him gently down. 

“Oh?” she queried lightly, as he planted his arms to either side of her and settled his weight between her thighs. “I suppose you plan to make me gasp and sigh instead?” 

He flashed her a crooked grin. “Don’t I always?” As he spoke, he lowered his head to nuzzle behind her ear. Leia did gasp then, feeling the rigid length of him nudging hard against her thigh, even as his warm lips traversed the skin of her neck. He began making his way down to her clavicle, licking and nipping at her skin as he went. “As a matter of fact,” he rumbled as he shifted down her body and found a bare breast with his tongue, “I guarantee I’m gonna make you whimper and moan a little, too.” 

Leia’s core muscles clenched in delicious anticipation as his warm lips closed over the tip of her breast. “You  _ are _ good at that,” she conceded with a sigh, threading her fingers through his hair. “But then again...you’ve had nearly  _ half a century _ to hone your skills and refine your tech—oh,  _ goddess  _ that feels good.” 

Han’s answering chuckle buzzed against her flesh. Releasing her hardened nipple with a wet  _ pop _ , he lifted his head a notch and shot her a wicked grin. “Refine my  _ what,  _ Princess? Sorry, my hearing ain’t what it used to be.” 

She grinned back. “You know what they say, Hotshot. It’s hell growing old.” 

Still chuckling, Han placed a soft kiss upon her sternum and then turned his attention to her other breast, cupping it in one broad palm and laving the stiffened nipple with a curl of his tongue. Leia couldn’t help arching beneath him, clutching him closer as he gently rolled and sucked the rigid flesh between his lips. A little groan escaped her then and Han gave a gratified grunt, lifting his head to meet her gaze. 

“Ah, well...it ain’t so bad, is it?” he murmured, a little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

Leia smiled back, ruffling the silver-threaded hair at his temples with the tips of her fingers.“Growing old? No, it’s not so bad,” she said with a thoughtful sigh. “As long as we get to do it together.”

“So far, so good, Sweetheart,” Han said, and then stretched up to meet her offered kiss.   
  


-:¦:--:¦:--:¦:- 

 

The End 

 


End file.
